


If It Had To Perish Twice

by Melibe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (not an aardvark), 1970s, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Angel Beelzebub (Good Omens), Angel!Beelzebub is Kamael, Angst and Humor, Apples, Bad Flirting, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Blind Character, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crepes, Crowley and Aziraphale argue about biology, Crowley is still a demon, Demon Gabriel (Good Omens), Demon!Gabriel is Iblis, Eventual Happy Ending, I mean the demons would tell you they're lusting but I think we all know what pining looks like, Implied Sexual Content, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Innuendo, Lower Tadfield (Good Omens), Lucifer needs to learn about consent, M/M, Maggot Husbands (Good Omens), Metaphysical Sex, Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Paperwork, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Poetry, Roleswap, Smallpox, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), The Arrangement (Good Omens), The Fall (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), War in Heaven (Good Omens), Worms, aziraphale is still an angel, it's one of my favorite tropes okay, smiting, still not super graphic though, the arousing ordeal of watching angels eat, very brief mention of past rape, whoops I think the sexual content went beyond "implied"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22555933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melibe/pseuds/Melibe
Summary: Archangel Kamael very nearly fell alongside Lucifer, and became the demon lord Beelzebub. But they didn’t, because that would have beenstupidandweak.Meanwhile, Archangel Gabriel fought for Heaven in the war, but refused to bow to the first humans. He fell for his pride, becoming the demon lord Iblis, and he’s not bitterat allabout Satan’s obvious disappointment that he isn’t Kamael.Now Aziraphale has a supervisor in Heaven who threatens him with outright violence, but admits there’s something to be said for consuming gross matter. And Crowley finally has a chance in Hell of getting a “Wahoo!” from his boss.How will these four fools manage six thousand years of human history and the inevitable end times? Especially when they keep having all these inconvenientfeelings?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Beelzebub (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens), Gabriel/Lucifer, Gabriel/Michael (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 191
Kudos: 150





	1. After Eden

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this [gorgeous art](https://lycoris-lily.tumblr.com/post/186053349986/im-so-thirsty-for-a-role-swap-fic-about-them) of reverse Gabriel and Beelzebub, I started imagining an AU where the bosses are reversed but the ineffable husbands are not. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't _stop_ thinking about it, so now it's happening.

The storm was over.

It had thoroughly watered the young earth, which was now running with rivers and swollen with seas. The waters had divided the lands, and the lands divided themselves, forming jungles and deserts and grasslands and badlands.

This new world encompassed every duality—boiling and frozen, soaked and parched, teeming and desolate. And it could flip from one extreme to another in a heartbeat.

As if to prove the point, a lush green mountainside opened up with a sudden roar, vomiting lava all over itself until nothing remained but rock and ash. A demon climbed out of the wounded earth to perch on a lump of basalt.

Iblis was one of the newer demons, having fallen some time after the War. He’d never considered himself rebellious, but the idea of prostrating himself before humans was too absurd. If that was what angels did, then he was clearly better off as a demon.

He’d been a pretty big deal in Heaven, and he expected his abrupt appearance on Earth to set off alarms upstairs. In fact, he was counting on it. He adjusted his robes to his best advantage, and waited.

A few pockets of lava were still bubbling when the archangel Kamael glided down on a light breeze. Iblis frowned—he’d been expecting Michael—and watched the smaller angel alight a short distance uphill. At the touch of their bare toes, ash-covered stones turned into polished obsidian, nearly as lustrous as their black hair.

Well, this could be interesting too. Especially now that he’d heard Lucifer’s side of the story.

Kamael’s eyes were icy, their voice deep and sonorous. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Neither are you,” Iblis responded. Earth was for the humans, both sides were clear on that. Occult and ethereal operatives could only visit on business.

“I’ll leave right after you do,” Kamael said flatly. “What do you want?”

Iblis grinned. “I just thought it would be sporting to let you know that we’re two up on you already, and the show’s barely started.”

“What.”

“My agent Crawly—snakey fellow, you’ve seen him?—gave Eve the apple.”

Kamael folded their arms. “Did you really come up here just to gloat about what everyone already—”

“And then he tricked one of yours into giving Adam his sword. Didn’t know _that_ , did you?”

Kamael didn’t look flustered or even surprised, which Iblis found disappointing, but they did look a bit irritated. Maybe. It was hard to tell, on a face like theirs.

“Which one?”

Iblis blinked, distracted by thoughts about Kamael’s face. “Which one what?”

“Which angel of mine?”

“Oh.” He frowned in thought. “Crawly said it was ‘the cute one.’”

“Thanks for that. Super helpful.”

“Not that I can imagine any angel cuter than you,” Iblis added with a wink, wondering what it would take to change Kamael’s expression.

They just stared back at him with those cold blue eyes.

So he cranked up the charm. “I’m Iblis, by the way, lord of—”

“I know who you are.”

“Ah.” He supposed they would have to know. The two of them hadn’t seen each other like this, angel and demon, but there had only been eight archangels in Heaven. Some had worked together more closely than others. Iblis—who had not been Iblis then—had partnered most often with Michael. He had fought by her side when he was still Heaven’s angel. Kamael he'd seen mostly from a distance, their glossy black hair bent over their work, close beside the golden ringlets of—

“It was supposed to be you,” he said without thinking.

Their eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

After Iblis fell, he’d been quick to position himself as Hell’s second-in-command. But no matter how hard he worked, he was not the prince his master had hoped for. It rankled. “You were supposed to fall with Lucifer.”

Kamael moved too quickly for him to react. With one beat of their wings they had Iblis on his back on the sharp volcanic rocks, a sword at his throat and the light of divine wrath blinding his eyes. The archangel’s voice rang out deeper than before, shaking the mountain itself. AND YOU, WORM, WERE YOU SUPPOSED TO STAY IN HEAVEN?

“Looks like I hit a nerve,” said Iblis, as smug as he could be in such a compromised position. His hands dug into the earth, groping for infernal power, and he brought them up again blazing.

Kamael lifted into the air to avoid the fireballs Iblis flung as he regained his footing. Then they brought their sword down from above, a vicious strike which the demon lord neatly sidestepped. He was enjoying this side of Kamael, the rage a pleasant change from their usual cool demeanor. “Want to know what he says about you?”

“Nothing could interest me less,” they snarled, sword slashing toward Iblis’ face.

He caught it with his hands, and Hellfire crackled along the blessed weapon’s edge. It threw out stinging sparks. He jerked away, even as Kamael withdrew the blade.

“You’re holding back,” they observed.

Iblis shrugged. “So are you.”

They eyed each other warily and took stock of their surroundings. Brief as it was, their battle had warped the land. Deep fissures belched steam and smoke; the obsidian had been joined by veins of gold and silver.

“This isn’t the time,” said Kamael.

“Or the place,” agreed Iblis.

They sheathed their sword. “In six thousand years, then, fiend.”

“In fire and flame.” Iblis cracked open the ground at his feet. If he descended in a flashier blaze than was strictly necessary, well, who could blame him for wanting to impress an archangel?

* * *

Kamael was shaking when they got back to Heaven. Ignoring the curious glances of lesser angels, they ascended straight to the highest sphere, spreading out their true form to soak in celestial harmony and unruffled peace.

Here, they were perfect. Here, no one knew how close they had come to falling.

When they felt like themselves again, Kamael put their standard form back on. They found Michael working silently among the Seraphim and notified her that the incident on Earth was resolved. She didn’t respond, as Kamael hadn’t expected her to.

Michael hadn’t been the same since Iblis fell. Uriel had picked up some slack, but Kamael in their dogged determination had shouldered most of the burden, until more than one angel addressed them as Prince of the Heavenly Host even though the title hadn’t been officially transferred.

Kamael didn’t mind. They could handle it. They could handle anything, in fact, and they were extremely displeased that Iblis had managed to rattle them. Perhaps something about the impure atmosphere of Earth had contributed to their loss of composure. They ought to have smote Iblis before he got a word in, but smiting such a powerful demon was exhausting, and Kamael preferred to conserve energy when they could. Besides, vile worm or not, he _had_ given them some interesting information.

Verifying the demon lord’s story about the flaming sword was a simple matter of cross-checking the Metratron’s records. As it turned out, the angel in question was named Aziraphale, and he really had given it away.

Kamael considered this. They hadn’t known Aziraphale at all before the War, but he’d distinguished himself in battle with his care for his comrades as well as his courage. Then he’d been placed as a guard on Eden’s Eastern Gate, a post of distinction.

Clearly, Aziraphale was nothing if not careful. It was hard to believe that he would let go of a sword that had been given to him specifically by the Almighty. Unless . . .

Unless he thought he was taking care of something else by doing so. Something more important.

The principality appeared promptly when Kamael summoned him, looking more nervous than distinguished. Kamael figured it wasn’t their job to put him at ease, so they folded their arms and got right to the point. “Aziraphale, you can lie to the Almighty and I don’t give a toss, that’s between the two of you. But if you ever lie to me, I’ll rip your wings off.”

His blue eyes grew wide as saucers. Okay, fine, maybe Kamael understood the “cute one” comment a little better now. They sighed. “Understood?”

“Er. Yes. I do understand.”

“Good. So how did the demon Crawly trick you?”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Trick me?”

“Into giving away your sword.”

Aziraphale bristled with surprised indignation. “That was before I even met him! I suppose it may have been the wrong thing to do, but I didn’t do it under _demonic influence_. My goodness, what would make you think—”

“Iblis made me think,” Kamael cut him off, quickly revising their assessment of the situation. “Lies, of course. All demons lie.” They cracked their knuckles thoughtfully. “But did Iblis lie to me, or did Crawly lie to him?”

“Does—er, does it matter?” Aziraphale was fiddling with something in his sleeve. “We can’t trust any of them . . . can we?”

Kamael ignored this as an obviously rhetorical question, dropping the topic of demons for more immediate concerns. “Well. There isn’t another sword for you.”

“Certainly, yes, of course. I didn’t expect—”

“But don't worry, we’ll get you a weapon for the final battle.” Kamael nodded decisively. “Until then, I want you on Earth, keeping an eye on these humans.”

“Oh, er, yes. I’d—I’d quite like that, I think.”

Kamael didn’t care if he liked it or not. They gestured to his sleeve. “What have you got there?”

“Oh! Here, why don’t you have this one? It’s quite delicious, really.” Aziraphale uncovered something small and round and shiny red. “If I’m headed back to Earth, I can get more. Suppose I’d better be off, hadn’t I? See what those humans are up to. Toodle-oo!”

Kamael watched him hurry away, then stared down at the apple in their hand. It looked nice. It smelled nice.

They took a bite.

It tasted nice, too.


	2. Water in the Desert

“So, giving the humans a flaming sword. How’d that work out for you?”

Startled, Aziraphale turned to see the Serpent of Eden prowling across the sand, a toothy grin on his face. _Crawly_ , as he’d introduced himself on the wall. Goodness, he hadn’t gotten any less beautiful, had he? Eyes like honey and a voice as sweet.

Aziraphale tried to glare at him. “How did taking the credit work out for _you_?”

“Oh, I’m a favorite with the boss now. Can do whatever I like.” For a moment he preened, and Aziraphale could fairly see his wings puff up with pride. Then his expression shifted, became earnest. “You were so worried about giving it away, I thought you might like to blame it on me. Did it help?”

For a moment Aziraphale was too astonished to speak. He watched Crawly swallow, and something sweet and tender took root in his heart.

It was a familiar feeling—perhaps the _most_ familiar feeling, as Aziraphale was, before everything, a being of love.

He loved the Almighty and he loved the other angels; he loved the stars and the earth and everything that grew on it. He’d loved humans from the instant he first saw Eve and Adam, fresh and fragile and full of wonder.

In the centuries since, Aziraphale had begun to worry that he might love _too_ much, if such a thing were possible. Certainly none of the other angels were as enamored of Earth as he was; they spoke and acted with a degree of reserve that Aziraphale could never achieve.

And now his love had grown to include a demon. It was . . . unsettling.

Crawly was shifting from one foot to the other. “Didn’t get you in trouble, did I?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” Aziraphale answered quickly, forgetting the part where Kamael had threatened to rip his wings off. “That was—that was very thoughtful of you.”

“It _wasn’t_.” Crawly turned out to the desert, almost quickly enough for Aziraphale to miss the flush that hit his cheeks. “It was entirely selfish. I wasn’t sure about the apple, right, so I added the sword to cover all my bases.”

“Er. Bases?”

“Eh, dunno what it means either.” He shrugged. “But look, you go ahead and blame me for anything the humans do that you don’t like, all right? They’re wretched enough, I’ll hardly have to do any work.”

“Lazy,” scolded Aziraphale, which seemed to make Crawly relax. He met the angel’s eyes with a grin, and oh, what a sight that was. 

“I suppose you might do the same,” offered Aziraphale, captivated by the demon’s smile. “I mean, if you’re ever worried again that you did the right thing. You could say it was me.”

Crawly placed a hand over his heart. “An angel, condoning falsehood?”

“You’d be the one lying, not me,” Aziraphale pointed out, then hurried to add, “And if you try to do any real work, I’ll still thwart you at every turn.”

“Oh, I’ll be spreading my wiles far and wide, you see if I don’t,” Crawly said. “But just at the moment I’m on holiday. What about you, angel, what are you doing in the middle of nowhere?”

Grateful to be reminded of his task, Aziraphale looked away from the gorgeous demon, over the sand. “I’m supposed to meet a young woman named Hagar and her son.”

“Yeah?” Crawly took in their empty surroundings. “They must be impressively lost. Gonna give them directions?”

“I’m going to give them some water,” said Aziraphale primly. “And a message from the Almighty.”

“Straight from the source, hunh?”

Aziraphale fiddled with his sleeve; he hadn’t actually spoken to the Almighty since the incident at the wall. “Well, I received the assignment from Archangel Kamael.”

“Kamael’s your boss?” Crawly let out a whistle. “They’re a piece of work.”

Aziraphale frowned. True, Kamael was terrifying. But after the apple they’d begun asking what other tasty treats he’d found on Earth, and that took the edge off the terror. Besides, there was such a thing as loyalty. He gave Crawly a properly offended look. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“No, I say it like it’s a _good_ thing, which is why I don’t like it.” He did something with his face that wasn’t quite smiling. “I’m a demon, remember?”

 _Oh dear_ , thought Aziraphale. It was too easy to forget, with all this love fluttering around inside him. But no one had ever told him _not_ to love demons, so he supposed it would be all right—as long as he kept on thwarting.

Crawly slouched attractively against a boulder, reminiscing. “Kamael was always the serious one, weren’t they? There was only one angel could ever make them laugh.” He raised his eyebrows and looked meaningfully at the ground.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. It was hardly appropriate to discuss his supervisor’s personal history with—well, with anyone. “Kamael is the Prince of the Heavenly Host now. They’re very organized. Very efficient.”

“I’ll bet,” drawled Crawly. “Don’t let ‘em run you too ragged, angel.”

“Nonsense. I was made to serve.” Aziraphale folded his arms in the sleeves of his robe. “I’ve already prepared the well for Hagar and Ishmael, and I’m expecting them any minute now.”

“Why are they wandering in the desert, anyway? Not too healthy for humans, is it?”

“Ah. Er. You see.” Aziraphale didn’t love this part of the story, but it was all ineffable, wasn't it? “Hagar was a slave to Sarah, Abraham’s wife. And Sarah wanted children, but thought she was too old to have any herself, so she brought Hagar to Abraham and he, er—”

“Raped her?” said Crawly.

“Er. So. Hagar bore Ishmael, Abraham’s first son, but eventually Sarah had a son too. Divine intervention, you know! And after Isaac was born, Sarah was concerned about having Ishmael and Hagar around. She felt, ah—”

“Jealous,” Crawly supplied.

“Um. Well. She asked Abraham to send them away, and that’s. That’s why I’m here.”

The demon shook his head. “See what I mean? People are right tossers. I don’t have to lift a finger.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together and didn’t answer. He’d heard hoarse voices from around a rocky outcrop, so he opened his wings and soared a few dozen cubits into the air for a better view.

There they were, poor things, Hagar and her teenage son stumbling over the stones. Each was trying to support the other, though neither had the strength for it.

“Lie down, Mother, I beg of thee,” croaked Ishmael. “Let me go and seek water.”

Hagar laughed, a sad bark. “Beloved son, thou canst barely walk. Come into the shade.”

They dragged themselves to a shrub that cast a shadow just large enough for one person. Hagar urged Ishmael under the dusty leaves, and his eyes immediately fell closed. “Take some rest,” she whispered. “I will look for help.”

Aziraphale felt the air stir, and turned to see Crawly hovering by his side. He touched the demon’s hand and said quietly, “They’re not all bad.”

Crawly looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, all right. You going to do your thing now?” When Aziraphale nodded, he said, “I’ll leave you to it,” and dropped silently back to earth as a snake.

Aziraphale expected him to slither away, but he just coiled among the rocks. The angel let out a huff of annoyance. He felt self-conscious with Crawly watching him, but there was nothing to do about it now. Hagar needed him.

“Let me not see the death of my child!” she was crying as she staggered away from Ishmael. She groped in the dust as though she might find water there.

Aziraphale drew close to her and spread his wings wide, shading her from the sun. She sank to her knees, blinking and rubbing her eyes.

“Fear not,” he said kindly, because that’s what angels were supposed to say when they addressed humans. He could guess that some of the other angels really needed to say it, but no one ever seemed to fear Aziraphale. Hagar was already looking at him as if he were an old friend.

His message could wait until he’d tended to their immediate needs. “Come with me, my dear. There’s a well right over . . . there? No—there?”

Aziraphale stopped and turned in place, biting his lip. One rock looked _so_ much like another, and where _was_ that darn well? Kamael wouldn’t be pleased to find out he’d wasted his first miracle and needed to use another.

Then he caught sight of Crawly’s bright yellow eyes. The serpent stretched up, flat head tilting to the southeast. Oh, _that_ was the rock!

Immensely relieved, Aziraphale guided Hagar to the well and helped fill her empty bottle. She refused to drink until she had brought it to Ishmael, but soon both mother and son had quenched their thirst and sat laughing and hugging each other in the shade of Aziraphale’s wings.

“Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand,” the angel told Hagar, carefully sticking to the script he’d been given. The two humans scrambled to their feet as he finished. “God will make him a great nation.”

Aziraphale knew it wasn’t the first time Hagar had received this news. She simply nodded, eyes shining, but Ishmael let out a gasp. Aziraphale was about to explain that he wouldn’t literally be transformed into a nation, he’d just have important descendants, when he realized it wasn’t his words that had alarmed the boy.

“A serpent! Mother, beware!” Ishmael moved between Hagar and the enormous snake that had made its way silently across the sand to join them.

“Oh, that’s just Crawly,” said Aziraphale. “He won’t harm you.”

“A fitting name for one that squirmeth at thy feet,” said Hagar with a smile, leaning down to pat the snake’s head. Crawly stuck out his tongue, but didn’t bite. “Thou art an angel of the Lord indeed, that even such a creature is meek before thee.”

“Oh, er—yes. Quite,” said Aziraphale.

* * *

“I think I’ll change my name,” said Crawly, lounging on a stalagmite in one of the lower circles of Hell.

“Oh?” said Iblis, not listening at all. He had several large pieces of parchment laid out on a slab of stone, and he scowled as he looked from one to another.

“I’d like something with a little more dignity,” Crawly mused. 

It _was_ funny, what that woman Hagar had said. He’d laughed about it with Aziraphale afterwards, the angel wringing his hands just a little over the whole exchange. Crawly found that he couldn’t get enough of the adorable way Aziraphale fussed, lips pursed and eyes crinkled. Why had Crawly let so many years slip by since their first meeting? Well, he sure as Hell wouldn’t let it happen again. 

He did wonder if Iblis would be angry to find out that Crawly had pointed the way to Aziraphale’s well. But it was such a little thing, took no demonic powers at all, just a basic ability to keep track of directions—honestly, that angel would forget his own head next. And it’s not as though Crawly had helped the Almighty’s favorites, Sarah and Isaac. _They_ could go jump in a lake for all he cared. Hagar and Ishmael, though, he’d liked them. That was all right, wasn’t it, liking humans that were outcasts? Practically Fallen, they were.

But he didn’t like what she’d said about his name.

“Crawly just isn’t me,” he complained aloud.

“You are a snake,” Dagon pointed out. She squatted at the edge of a murky lake, eating something very unsanitary.

Crawly waved toward Iblis. “He’s a worm! He’s at least as crawly as I am.”

Dagon shrugged. “But you were here first, so you got the name.”

“Suppose I was.” Crawly remembered the explosive arrival of Iblis, wings still smoldering from the fall, eyes alight with pride and fury. Iblis had been looking for anyone to fight, to prove himself superior, and Crawly could have come forward then. He could have tested his strength against the new demon, and he might even have won, might have been able to seize the power Iblis now held.

But then Crawly would be the one muttering over parchments, keeping tabs on subordinates and strategizing with the Big Boss. He didn’t want any part of that. He’d always liked working on his own, was never much of a team player, even in Heaven.

When war broke out, the other angels said _if you’re not with Us you’re with Them_ , so down he went. But he was no more committed to Hell than he had been to Heaven. Crawly didn’t care to be on anyone else’s side. Crawly was on Crawly’s side.

“Dagon, where’s the list of antediluvian temptations?” said Iblis, looking up from his parchments. “I know we rescheduled some of them for after the flood, but I can’t find those in any newer records.”

“I’ll look for it, Lord,” she said, and headed off into the shadows, still chewing.

Crawly hopped up onto the edge of the stone table. “Maybe I’ll change it to Crowley.”

“Change what?” asked Iblis.

“My name.”

“You know, for a while I thought I should’ve been Crawly,” said Iblis, confirming that he hadn’t heard a word of the previous conversation. “It's more wormy than snakey, wouldn’t you say?”

“It isn’t really either, though, is it? When you think about it, crawling implies something with legs, like a bug or a baby. You and I haven’t got legs, not properly I mean. So we slither,” concluded Crawly, kicking out his nonexistent legs.

“You slither,” said Iblis. “I ooze. Or dig, I suppose.”

Dagon reappeared and dropped a scroll on the table. Iblis unrolled it, squinted, then balled it up and threw it into the lake. “That’s the same as this one I’ve already got!" he shouted in exasperation. "See? Why do we have two copies?”

“Well, we don’t _anymore_ ,” muttered Dagon, glaring at the lake.

“Hey!” came a wet, muffled shout from the murky water. Hastur emerged, squelching his way through one of Hell’s many entrances, dripping slime and weeds and carrying the ruined scroll under one arm. “I went to Earth to see what all the fuss was about.”

“Only took you a couple thousand years,” said Crawly under his breath.

Haster handed the scroll to Dagon, who began licking it off like a mother cat cleaning her kittens. Then he announced to no one in particular, “It’s mostly rubbish, Earth. But I saw the humans doing somethin’ interesting and I want to try. Need a volunteer.”

Ligur, who had been sitting to one side looking exactly like a rock, blinked his eyes open to peer at Hastur. “What’s it called, then?”

“Fucking,” said Hastur.

Crawly made a garbled, wordless noise. He looked around to see if anyone else found this ridiculous, but apparently he was the only one. “Hastur, just out of curiosity,” he said. “How did you think humans made more humans?”

“I know _that_ ,” the other demon scoffed. “The ones with tits shit out babies. What’s that got to do with fucking?”

Crawly closed his mouth, determined to keep it closed for the duration.

“This fucking,” said Ligur suspiciously. “Is it as much fun as killing?”

“Not sure yet. Might be.”

Ligur nodded. “Right then. I’ll give it a go.”

“You’ve got to get starkers first.”

“Oi!” As it turned out, Crawly _couldn’t_ keep his mouth shut. “Haven’t you noticed humans do it in private?”

“They don’t,” insisted Hastur. “Saw a whole big group of them going at it.”

“Oh. Well . . . okay. I’ll just be off. Since I’ve seen it before.” Crawly hopped down from the table and took two long steps toward somewhere else, anywhere else, before Iblis caught his arm and pulled him back.

“Crawly, I have just the job for you! You’ve been to Earth enough.” He waved one of the parchments in Crawly’s face. “The humans are splitting up into so many nations that a single master list won’t do anymore, so I want you to—”

“I hear Heaven’s got quite the organizational system,” Crawly cut in. “Before I make a mess of everything, you should talk to Kamael and see how they do it.”

Iblis blinked, smiled, then smiled even wider. “What an excellent idea.”

“You know me. Fount of ideas,” said Crawly, trying to ignore what was happening by the lake.

_“Maybe you should make it harder. Or pointier.”_

_“It’s hard enough. You need to get wetter is all.”_

_“Wet? Like with blood or what?”_

Iblis was so intrigued by Crawly's suggestion he didn’t seem to notice. “Do you think Kamael would like to be asked?”

“I think they’d hate it.” Crawly shuddered. If he had to interact with an angel, he would choose the warm, soft Guardian of the Eastern Gate, not the angel-shaped block of ice that was Archangel Kamael.

But Iblis’ smile only grew. “Well, that’s all right then. Good thinking, Crawly.”

“Crowley,” he corrected.

“Eh?”

“It’s Crowley now. New name. I’ve decided.”

“Hmm.” Iblis waved Dagon over. “Do we have a form for name changes? Crawly here needs one.”

“ _Crowley._ ”

Iblis nodded. “Of course, Crawly, after you fill out the form.”

Dagon snapped her fingers, and a thick pile of parchment appeared on the ground in front of Crawly. It reached nearly to his knees. The top sheet was covered with tiny writing requesting the detailed historical usage of his current name from the beginning of time. He nudged it aside with his foot. The next sheet went on in the same way.

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned.

Iblis raised one eyebrow. With the obscene sounds coming from Hastur and Ligur, Crawly had to admit he’d chosen his words poorly.

“Not like _that_ ,” he grumbled. And snatched up a piece of charcoal to start writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- yes the maggot husbands get together before anyone else in this fic  
> \- yes I am deeply apologetic  
> \- yes the other couples will eventually sort themselves out


	3. Betrayed With a Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While writing the continuation of last chapter's events, I found I needed to step back and make some notes on how the Fall went down in this AU. 1500 words later I thought, hunh, well, how about a flashback chapter? I hope it's enjoyable, and I promise the next update will get back to office-style shenanigans &c.

_Before Eden._  
_Before the Fall._  
_Before the War._  
_Just, before everything, okay?_

What you have to understand is that Lucifer was more beautiful and more powerful than anything else in existence. He was second only to the Almighty. The other angels couldn’t even think of resenting him—they were too busy loving him.

He would teach you how to make stars, then tidy up your first galaxy so it was something you could be really proud of. He would groom your wings, no matter if you were a Seraph or a Principality, whispering all the while how perfect you were.

He could even make Archangel Kamael laugh, and that was a feat no one else could boast of.

Kamael was serious, even then. Oh, they knew joy, and love, but they kept those feelings deep and quiet. A covered well. They focused on their work, making and minding the laws of Creation, and they guided others to do the same. Angels who approached Kamael found themselves growing more solemn, more still.

Not Lucifer. He would pluck one of their feathers and go whirling off with it, leading Kamael on a merry chase through galaxies and half-woven gravity wells. Finally he would let them catch him, and then he’d tuck the feather back its place with a healing touch.

The first time the two angels found themselves so close together, with all their wings brushing and all their eyes staring, Lucifer suddenly surged even closer, merging the fires at the core of their two beings into one wild crackling inferno. The hidden well of Kamael’s feelings bubbled up as a fountain, a geyser, overflowing and out of control. For a moment they didn’t know if they could untangle themselves from Lucifer, and stranger still, they didn’t know if they wanted to.

Then Lucifer did the untangling, beating his wings to separate their forms and laughing like it was the best joke the universe had yet seen. Kamael, at a loss for any other response, laughed too.

They went back to work and everything was almost the same, except Kamael had a new feeling inside them all the time, a craving that kept calling them back to Lucifer. And every time they came to him, he spread himself wide and welcomed them into that same ecstatic embrace.

Kamael was hardly the only angel who sought out the Light-bringer; there were many, at every level of the heirarchy. And many shirked their own work to follow him, for unlike the other archangels, Lucifer never demanded anything of them. He let them hang on his feathers and watch his every move, and he gave only praise and kind words in return.

But Kamael never saw or heard of Lucifer merging essences with any other angel. This afforded them such inexplicable satisfaction that they didn’t even mind taking over all the abandoned projects and neglected tasks.

Kamael had just begun distributing dark matter, a job for which they ought to have had half a dozen helpers, when Michael appeared at their side.

“I need to talk to you, Kamael.”

“About what?” they asked curtly, because they had little attention to spare.

“You know that thing Lucifer does with you—”

An uncomfortable too-warm feeling flooded Kamael. “Yes.”

“He tried it with me.”

The heat morphed into something different but still uncomfortable, and Kamael decided they were fed up with _feeling things_. They fixed all their eyes on the work in front of them. “So?”

“I told him to stop.”

Without meaning to, a few of Kamael’s eyes glanced at the other archangel.

“He didn’t stop.”

Kamael’s memory skipped back to their first time with Lucifer. Had they even considered telling him to stop? Surely not. It felt so wonderful, so right, they must have wanted it to go on. But Michael didn’t want it, and that was right too. Lucifer shouldn’t do it with her. With anyone but Kamael.

When Kamael didn’t speak, Michael pressed on. “I’m worried. Lucifer has gotten—well, he seems to think he can do anything.”

“He _can_ do anything,” said Kamael, because it was true.

Michael’s eyes narrowed, a flock of arrows all pointed at Kamael. “So you think it’s all right, do you? What he did to me?”

“ _Did_ he—”

“No.” Michael’s wings were beating now, a steady thrum that fanned her flames and stretched her being in all dimensions. “He didn’t stop, so I stopped him.”

“Good.” Kamael considered. They could match Michael’s expanding form, but they didn’t see any reason to. “I wasn’t saying that it’s all right. Just because he _can_ do anything doesn’t mean he _should_.”

“Precisely.” Michael could fill the heavens like this. “I will stop him again, Kamael. If I have to.”

They frowned. “Why does that sound like a threat?”

“It could be a threat. Or it could be an offer.” An open palm emerged from her center, upturned in space for a long quiet moment, until the archangel folded herself back up. “However you choose, keep it in mind.”

After that, Kamael began to notice things. Lucifer’s carelessness toward his many followers, for one. He spoke sweetly to them, so sweetly, but he didn’t bother to learn their names, to tell one from another, or to remember from one day to the next what they’d said to him. And the angels didn’t care, because it was Lucifer, and they worshipped him.

_They worshipped him._

Kamael saw it now. There was no other word for that depth of adoration, and Lucifer encouraged their blasphemy. He reveled in it. He never tried to draw their attention back towards the Almighty, in fact—

He never even mentioned the Almighty. Kamael felt dizzy with the realization. For how long now had Lucifer spoken of nothing but his own glory? Clearly they would have to reign him in. Kamael loved him too dearly to see him turn away from the very Light he bore. This must be the reason they had felt so drawn to him—it was their purpose to correct his course.

Once they’d reached this conclusion, Kamael wasted no time in finding Lucifer. Several lesser angels were grooming his wings, but when he saw Kamael every one of his eyes lit up with joy and he sprang forward to greet them. They could hardly feel sorry for the angels he left behind, and they forgot what they’d wanted to talk to him about.

To have Lucifer’s full attention was intoxicating.

Later, cocooned in his wings and subsumed in his fire, Kamael listened to his whispers. Some were familiar—that he and Kamael completed each other, that he would take care of them always—and others were new. Or had Kamael never listened closely enough before?

Lucifer whispered that he would rule in Heaven with Kamael by his side, and together they would cast out Michael and any other angels who didn’t understand them. Who failed to worship them.

Kamael drew away as soon as they could, finding the excuse of a nebula that needed repair. Lucifer laughed as they flew away, the indulgent laughter of one who scorned ordinary work but found Kamael’s dedication to it endearing.

In fact, Kamael did go to to work on the nebula, but only for as long as it took to crush every one of their feelings back into the well, to slam the lid and lock it down.

Lucifer was too far gone for a simple course correction. He did not need to be reigned in. He was poison in Heaven, and he needed to be drawn out.

Kamael found Michael in the high celestial vaults, organizing harmonies. She looked up when Kamael arrived.

“I’m ready to take your offer,” said Kamael, cool as a dying star.

“Good.” Michael nodded, sharp and decisive, as she put her work away. “Gabriel will help. And Uriel, and Sandalphon. Do you have a plan?”

“I’ll distract him,” they told Michael. “While you gather the Host.”

So Kamael went looking for Lucifer for the last time. They found him at the center of a nest of wings and blinking, adoring eyes, his praises sung by a veritable choir of angels. He seemed lost in it, but when Kamael called, he reached for them eagerly.

Kamael wanted to avoid any tangling of flames, which might burst open the well of feeling they had so carefully controlled. What they offered instead was more like a kiss, something that would be mimicked by humans much later with lips. It was a touch, light but intimate, lingering, fluttering, stretching out time.

But it could not last forever, and eventually Lucifer tried to enfold them in his wings, to fill himself with them as he had done many times before. Kamael recoiled at once, shuttered themselves away. 

Lucifer laughed in puzzlement. “A new game, Kamael? Shall I pry you open?”

IT IS NO GAME. Michael’s voice rang like thunder in the skies, and Gabriel landed like a spear of lightning at her side. They stood at the head of an army, rank upon rank blazing with holy conviction. Of the choir that had surrounded Lucifer, a few cried out and broke away to join their fellows behind the other archangels, but most drew closer to Lucifer, waiting for his word.

Lucifer’s gaze took in the blinding glory of the Host, the awful aspect of the archangels who led it, and then landed on Kamael. They had not yet moved into position, not yet drawn their weapon. Lucifer spoke their name so incredulously that, for a moment, they almost felt regret.

Then his rage boiled over, his wings stretched out to darken all of Creation, and his eyes glowed with pure hatred. “ _I’ll destroy you!_ ” he screamed.

And Kamael regretted nothing at all.

“No,” they told Lucifer, raising their sun-bright sword. “I will abide in Heaven, and you shall be cast out.”


	4. Sore Afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a couple of demons make a couple of moves, and things don't exactly work out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you soooo much for all the kind comments and kudos! They brighten the whole world!

Everywhere Iblis looked, shepherds were screaming, running, or falling flat on their faces. The sheep weren’t doing much better. Some huddled together, bleating frantically. Others had tipped right over.

It was exactly the reaction Iblis expected to see when he crawled up from Hell in full demonic glory—except he hadn’t. He was just strolling across the fields, looking roughly human.

No, all this terror had been inspired by an angel.

Archangel Kamael, to be specific. They hovered in the air over the hill, the slight frame of their body dwarfed by the enormous spread of their wings, shining so brightly that Iblis could make them out even with one hand covering his eyes. Their voice vibrated like a struck gong as they delivered the (debatably) good news, A SAVIOR HAS BEEN BORN TO YOU.

Iblis leaned against a tree, pulled out a piece of parchment, and jotted down a few notes. He and Lucifer hadn’t done much brainstorming for Armageddon yet, but they’d want to make it at least as flashy as this.

Thinking of his boss made Iblis wonder if he ought to try murdering a few shepherds or singeing Kamael’s feathers, as long as he was here. But it was still a couple thousand years too early for open combat, and he’d come up for a consultation, not a quarrel.

He tucked away his notes and strode forward, waving to Kamael. The archangel frowned and shook their head, motioning him back. Ah. So the ruckus wasn’t over.

A choir of angels descended, then a second choir and a third. Shepherds lifted their faces, fear softening into awe as songs of praise echoed over the hills. Iblis stuck his fingers in his ears, longing to revert to a giant worm and burrow straight back to Hell. He had a hard head, good for digging.

But it had taken too blessed long to set up this meeting. Iblis refused to skip out just because of an overabundance of caterwauling angels.

He waved at Kamael again, then called their name in a stage whisper. This drew the attention of several cherubs, who fumbled the next hosanna and gave him the stink-eye.

Kamael’s frown deepened. They gestured to the choir to continue, then dropped silently to the ground, folding their wings and dimming their halo. Leaving the shepherds enraptured by the host in the sky, they marched over to the tree where Iblis stood.

“Worm,” they growled. “ _You_ do not summon _me_ away from my work.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Apparently I do.”

“Tell me what you want while I decide whether to flatten you or fry you.”

“Always such a ray of sunshine.” Iblis grinned. “You know, I think the humans are more afraid of you than they are of me.”

Kamael’s scowl diminished, like they were taking a compliment. “So?”

“It's not right, is it? I’m the demon. I should be the scary one.” Iblis stretched his mostly-human mouth into a gaping maw, packed with row after row of needle-like teeth.

Kamael folded their arms, unimpressed.

“Besides,” said Iblis. “I’m bigger than you.”

“So is a tree.” Kamael nodded to the inoffensive cedar they stood beneath.

Iblis felt miffed by the comparison—he was much more frightening than any tree—but he let that go, intrigued by the smugness that had crept into Kamael’s expression. “You _like_ it. You like scaring humans.”

Kamael shrugged and gave a noncommittal hum, a low vibration that Iblis felt all over his skin. He liked it, probably just because it made a contrast to the extravagant notes being belted out of the sky. Definitely not because he had any fondness for Kamael’s voice.

“That isn’t very angelic of you, to enjoy frightening them,” he pointed out.

“I suppose you’re the expert on what is and isn’t angelic.”

“I know at least as much about it as you.” After all, Iblis had been both an angel and a demon, and Kamael had only been the one. He stepped closer, determined to enjoy his height advantage as long as they stayed on the ground. “For the record, _I’m_ not afraid of you.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot,” said Kamael flatly.

He took another step toward them. They tilted their head back to maintain eye contact, with the weary sigh of a being who was routinely underestimated, and just as routinely made people regret it.

Iblis didn’t quite underestimate Kamael. He knew he should be afraid of them. He vividly recalled the brief altercation when they’d tested each other’s strength on the surface of the young Earth. How suddenly Kamael had turned violent; how quickly they’d pinned him against the rocks.

The archangel’s sharp stare pinned him just as effectively now. “Or perhaps you seek destruction. Is that it, Lord Iblis?” Their mocking use of his title made their standard address of _worm_ sound almost affectionate by comparison. “Is that why you continue to aggravate me?”

 _No_ , he barely kept himself from saying aloud, _it’s because you’re adorable when you’re aggravated._

In Heaven they had always been remote, untouchable. Sure, he’d seen them laugh with Lucifer, but in the end they’d repaid that most beautiful angel’s devotion with betrayal. Iblis still remembered Kamael on the day war broke out, coolly facing down Lucifer’s wrath. At the time he had seen and admired in Kamael the highest ideal of duty—all personal feeling subsumed to the greater good.

Now Iblis looked at them through eyes clouded milky white by his Fall, eyes that made humans think he was blind, and he saw the network of thread-thin cracks in Kamael’s icy facade. Every time they lost their temper, the cracks spread, and Iblis was desperately keen to watch them shatter.

But there was no sense in pushing for that today. “All I seek right now is advice, sunshine.”

Kamael’s eyes narrowed. “Advice on what?”

“Hell’s organization is a mess,” he admitted freely. “What’s it like up in Heaven?”

“Perfect. Of course.”

“Tell me about it.” Iblis drew out his parchment and put on a wheedling tone. “Did you create it yourself? _Ex nihilo_?”

“ _Ex nihilo nihil fit_ ,” they tossed back. “I . . . borrowed a few ideas from human governments. Improved on them, obviously.”

“Like what?”

Kamael scowled, but it was a conflicted scowl. Iblis could tell they wanted to deny him on principle, and at the same time they wanted to flaunt their accomplishments.

So he poured all his eagerness onto his face, giving them the opportunity to feel superior. _Look at me, a poor stupid demon with no idea how to run Hell. It would be charitable to give me a few tips._

The archangel steepled their fingers. “Well, we started by dividing the administration into offices: _ab epistulis, a libellis, a rationibus_ . . .”

Iblis set a tiny spark on the parchment to record notes as Kamael spoke. He listened with interest, and also spared a look toward the choirs, delivering their final alleluia. As the angels ascended into the clouds, more than one curious glance was directed toward the conference under the tree. Iblis winked, just to stir the pot.

When he brought all his attention back to Kamael, he noticed how the downturned corners of their mouth were belied by the sparkle in their eyes as they spoke of hierarchical reporting. He watched the way they emphasized their points with gestures, choppy but expressive. Their hands were as small as the rest of them, and Iblis was struck by the idea that he’d like to pick them up. Not even to throw them into the Pit. Just to feel the heft of them.

Iblis had never particularly wanted to touch anyone before, though he had vague and pleasant memories of grooming Michael’s wings. But the thought of holding Kamael reminded him more of the embraces he’d witnessed between Hastur and Ligur. He concluded that he must be feeling something similar to whatever those two demons had going on, and he knew how they'd gotten started.

“Kamael,” he said, interrupting their explanation of triplicate forms. “Want to fuck?”

With the angel choir gone, the shepherds had all hurried off to see Jesus, and most of the sheep had followed. A solitary old ewe was the only audience left to appreciate the truly spectacular smiting of the demon Lord Iblis by the Archangel Kamael.

* * *

After the incident with Hagar and Ishmael, Crowley had gotten into the habit of helping Aziraphale. Pointing out a shortcut here, carrying a message there. He always offered like it was an afterthought, shrugged off the angel’s appreciation, and changed the subject afterward.

He knew he was playing a very long game.

He just wasn’t sure what game it was.

Aziraphale’s radiant smile was as good for basking as a sun-warmed rock, but that couldn’t be the only reason. Crowley was a demon, so he _must_ have an ulterior motive. Perhaps he was undermining Aziraphale’s agency, leading him to doubt and, eventually, to Fall? No, that wasn't it. Crowley didn’t care to imagine the silly, anxious creature as anything other than an angel.

Because he couldn’t quite figure out why he kept helping Aziraphale, Crowley decided that at the very least he’d better start getting something in return. Otherwise he’d have to cope with the dreaded specter of altruism.

So the next time he ran across the angel, who was watching over the apostles’ visit to Naples and discreetly enjoying a bit too much wine, Crowley let slip that his work load was getting to him, that he had to be in too many places at once. Aziraphale mentioned an upcoming trip to the British Isles, and it all slotted into place.

Crowley clapped his hands together as though he’d only just thought of something. “Say, if you’re going that way—nah, never mind, don’t want to put you out.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble, my dear! What do you need?”

Crowley shrugged. “It’s nothing. Shouldn’t have brought it up.”

Aziraphale touched his arm. It felt too nice. “You must tell me, I insist. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve lent me a hand. Let me repay you.”

 _Oh, angel_ , said a wretched little part of Crowley, _get away from this now._

 _Oh, angel,_ the rest of him purred, _get closer._

“It’s a little pagan divination. Make a rabbit run the right way, that’s all.” He gave Aziraphale a rough description of the Celtic queen who’d be releasing the hare, and made sure he knew which direction Camulodunum lay. The angel took it all in, lips pursed in concentration. Then he carefully repeated it back, left a final blessing on Peter and Paul, and trotted off to the north.

Crowley was well satisfied, and entirely unprepared to face the angel’s wrath upon his return.

“You didn’t tell me that woman would be leading a _rebel army_ after the hare!”

“I’m a demon, Aziraphale, what sort of guidance did you think I'd be offering?" scoffed Crowley. "Besides, they had good cause to rebel. The Romans have been treating Boudica's people like shit.”

"Camulodunum, then Londinium, then Verulamium. Her army slaughtered tens of thousands. And not—not by _humane methods_ , Crowley." Aziraphale looked stricken. “You tricked me into doing the Devil’s work!”

“What of it? Haven’t I done _the Lord’s work_ for you, time and time again?” He was explaining this as clearly as he had done to himself, and yet Aziraphale’s pained expression somehow made all his arguments moot.

“But you knew what you were doing,” the angel protested.

“You _should_ have known what you were doing.”

Aziraphale looked down at his feet, then bravely back up. “Yes,” he said. “You’re right, of course. I should have known.”

And dammit, where was Crowley supposed to go from there? What the Hell was he supposed to do with those liquid eyes and that small sad mouth? “Angel,” he tried.

“Get thee behind me, foul fiend.” The admonition sounded heartbroken. Aziraphale turned and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Latin is "From nothing?" "From nothing comes nothing," a tenet of classical Greek philosophy. Then Kamael lists offices inspired by the bureaucracy of ancient Rome.
> 
> Boudica is verrrry interesting! I think Crowley would've liked her. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boudica


	5. Revelations

Although the Roman Empire had collapsed nearly two hundred years ago, Roman walls still crisscrossed Europe. Like this one in northern Gaul: broad and sturdy, just right for an angel’s perch. Aziraphale sat in the evening light, drinking cider and gazing over the orchards.

“Hello, Aziraphale.” Kamael’s voice rumbled through the old stones as they alighted next to him and folded their wings into nowhere.

Aziraphale hadn’t expected Kamael to join him quite so abruptly, and he was already a bit tipsy. He nearly slipped off the wall in his haste to greet them. “Hail, Archangel Kamael, Prince of the—”

“What’s this?” They took the bottle from his hand and sniffed it.

Aziraphale noted with pride that their tone, which would once have been skeptical, now held nothing but curiosity. Kamael had enjoyed nearly everything he’d shared with them from Earth (although the flamingo tongues had been a mistake, Aziraphale would be the first to admit).

“Cider,” he explained. “A fermented drink made from apples.”

“Fermented? Like beer?”

Aziraphale nodded. “I think it’s a bit nicer, though. When it’s done right.”

Kamael took a swig and announced, “That _is_ better than beer. Apples, hunh? Who knew?”

They passed the bottle back. Aziraphale sipped and smiled. Drinking was always nicer with company. He used to drink with Crowley, back before the Boudica disaster.

His smile faded at the memory. He’d found that he couldn’t stop loving the demon, but at least he was capable of keeping his distance. They hadn’t crossed paths in over five hundred years.

He settled his mind firmly in the present, glancing at the smaller angel beside him. Kamael’s legs kicked idly against the stones. The cider had begun to soften the sharp, almost abrasive edge to their holiness. “Thank you for stopping by, Kamael,” he said. “I know you’re dreadfully busy.”

“Well, I was already on Earth. Checking on Mecca.”

“Oh, yes!” Aziraphale’s assignments had shifted to other parts of the world, but he still felt an affectionate responsibility toward the “great nation” arising from Hagar and her son. “Michael is there, isn’t she? Speaking with that bright young fellow Muhammad, Ishmael’s great-great-great-great-” Sober, Aziraphale would have correctly calculated the number of generations. As it was, he had to give up. “Descendant. How’s the, ah, the revelation going?”

“It’s fine.” Kamael requisitioned the cider again. “Michael finally snapped out of her four-thousand-year funk, thank God. We’ll need her battle-worthy before too long.”

Aziraphale blinked in alarm. “I thought we still had—”

“Sure, there’s more than a thousand years before the end times. But some of the angels are counting down already. I don’t blame them.” Kamael considered the near-empty bottle. “Is there more?”

“Oh. Ah. Certainly.” Aziraphale had several more bottles nestled between the stones of the wall. He handed one to Kamael, who stared at the cork until Aziraphale sighed and pulled it out for them.

He watched them drain half the bottle in one go, and tried to find his smile again. He’d nearly been enjoying himself before Kamael brought up Armageddon. Crowley would never have done that. Crowley was always immersed in the moment, trying new outfits and hairstyles, entranced by whatever the humans did, even when he sneered at it.

And drat everything, because now Aziraphale was thinking about Crowley again. He kept remembering the demon’s sinuous movements, his winding way with words, his desert-gold eyes. Five hundred years wasn’t long enough to forget.

Especially not when Aziraphale suspected that serpentine agent of Hell of causing the latest human misery in his territory.

“So how are things here in Europe?” Kamael asked, as if they’d been following his unspoken thoughts.

Aziraphale sighed. “These people simply won’t stop quarreling! The instant one tribe settles into a spot of peace and harmony, another flares up over nothing. But...it isn’t only humans making each other miserable. A terrible new disease has begun spreading on the continent.”

“Something from Below?”

“I believe so.” Aziraphale thought of all the feverish children. The miserable blotchy faces. The graves. “It must be that old snake from the Garden who brought it.”

“Well?” Kamael demanded with a hiccup. “Are you thwarting?”

“Oh, of course. I found this wonderfully devout bishop, the sort who actually means it when he says _let us pray for our enemies_ , and I healed him of the disease. Then I made sure that the right people found out about it. He’s become the patron saint of smallpox.”

Kamael frowned. “So?”

Aziraphale wiggled on his seat. He thought this part was clever. “Now as the disease spreads, so does the story of the saint. Everyone who gets smallpox, and their families, and everyone who’s afraid of getting smallpox—they can all pray to Saint Nicasius.”

“So Hell’s disease is making people pray to Heaven.” Kamael didn’t smile, but they looked satisfied. “I may have to rub this one in that purple worm’s face. Good job, Aziraphale.”

“And that’s not all.” Encouraged, Aziraphale waved to the east. “I’ve heard there might even be a technique for preventing infection. I’d like to go to China and see what that’s all about.”

“Eh?” They blinked. “Why d’you want to go preventing infection, if you’ve already fixed it so prayer spreads with the disease?”

 _Because people are still suffering_ , Aziraphale almost said, before remembering that such an argument didn’t carry much weight with Kamael. He thought quickly, glad he’d been keeping tabs on Ishmael’s descendants. “You’ve just come from Mecca. Isn’t it part of the revelation, _trust in Allah but tie your camel_?”

Kamael stared into their bottle, frowning. “You want to go to China, so you c’n come back and show people here how to tie their camels? Their . . . smallpox camels?”

Aziraphale bit his lip in amusement. Kamael wasn’t exactly a lightweight, but they’d had a lot of alcohol in a very short time. He could try to explain, _I’m referring to the canonical idea that humans are meant to take initiative, whether in protecting their camels or their own bodies, and not rely solely on prayer and faith._

Or, Aziraphale decided, he could just say, “Yes.”

Kamael gave him a solemn nod. “Suppose that’s all right, then, as long as you keep an eye on things in Europe.”

“Of course,” promised Aziraphale. He’d be in China a few years at most. What could he possibly miss?

* * *

There had been some confusion in Heaven over who exactly was supposed to reveal the Quran to Mohammad. When Kamael had brought it up in a meeting, Uriel had wondered aloud if the task had been originally delegated to one of the Fallen. But Kamael had cut her off when they saw Michael approaching. You didn’t talk about the Fallen around Michael.

“I’ve got this one,” Michael had said coolly, scooping up the assignment. It was her first foray into field work, as far as Kamael could recall, but they’d just nodded. God knew they needed Michael to get her shit together before the end times, and maybe this would do it.

It had worked.

Michael returned from Mecca a new archangel. She began speaking up in meetings again, tackling projects that Kamael and Uriel had been too overworked to manage. It was a tremendous relief, and it finally gave Kamael time for a personal project of their own: hunting down an especially aggravating demon lord.

As it turned out, Iblis wasn’t trying to lay low. Kamael followed murmurs about “that beautiful blind man with a body made for sin,” and “that expensive jewelry, it’s a miracle no one has stolen it off him” all the way to a market on the outskirts of Cairo.

Kamael’s physical form was small, but anyone who caught a glimpse of their face stepped quickly out of the way. They found Iblis lounging on a rug between two tents, surrounded by a circle of mostly female admirers. His new corporation looked the same as the old one—tall with broad shoulders, milky blue-white eyes, big hands.

The humans were marveling at his deep purple jewelry, discussing the artistry that had formed stone and metal into such lifelike shapes. Kamael snorted. The demon was wearing _worms_.

One woman reached out to stroke the smooth "collar" around his neck. “It’s so cool,” she breathed. Her hand slipped to Iblis’ skin. “Not like you, handsome. You’re warm.”

“Hey.” Kamael shoved forward, scowling. “You. We have business. Come.”

“Is that an angel’s voice I hear?” Iblis tilted his head up, looking past Kamael as if he couldn’t see them. “An angel with business for me?”

“Yes,” Kamael snapped, ignoring the whispers around them. “Get up. Let’s go.”

Iblis climbed slowly to his feet. The woman who had touched him leaned forward and pressed a coin into his hand. “For your supper, poor thing. Your business tonight looks like a miser.” She shot a dark look at Kamael.

Kamael pressed their lips together, not caring if it heightened the impression of miserliness. They watched impatiently as Iblis lifted the woman’s hand and turned it over to kiss her wrist. Her eyes fluttered shut. “You are too kind, Samira,” he murmured. “I trust I will see you again.”

Then he reached one long arm toward Kamael. The archangel took a quick step back, a defensive instinct. Several bystanders gasped. _Too right_ , thought Kamael. _You lot didn’t know you were fawning over a demon, did you? And now he’s going to start a fight—_

“He’s blind, you monster,” snapped Samira. “Give him your arm, if you want him to go with you.”

_Oh._

The humans stared at Kamael, full of false judgement. Iblis waited, hand outstretched. Kamael gritted their teeth and moved closer. He was too tall for them to comfortably link arms, so they settled on wrapping his hand around their bicep.

Iblis _was_ warm to the touch, just as the woman had said. _Warm like Hell_ , Kamael told themselves, but that wasn’t how it felt. It felt warm like the sun. Warm like too much alcohol.

The iridescent worm around the demon’s wrist uncoiled enough to brush Kamael’s shoulder. They tried to think of it as disgusting, but in reality it just tickled.

Irritated beyond measure, Kamael marched Iblis through the stalls and away from the market, down into a dry riverbed. When he stumbled over a loose stone, they snapped, “Stop pretending you can’t see, worm.”

“I’m not pretending,” he said quietly. “This corporation is a bit different from my old one.”

“Oh. Shit.” Kamael knew their smiting had destroyed Iblis' physical form, but it hadn't occurred to them that when he incorporated again, his new form might come with new limitations.

So he really was blind now. They should not have felt the slightest regret. They’d smote a demon, a demon who had propositioned them in the rudest possible way, interrupting them right in the middle of an explanation he’d bloody well asked for. Smiting him had been the only conscionable choice, and it wasn’t their fault that he’d experienced further consequences.

There was absolutely no reason for Kamael’s mouth to open up and say, “I’m sorry.” But that’s what it did. Horrified, Kamael snapped it shut again.

“Well, I have plenty of other senses.” Iblis squeezed their upper arm, his fingers almost _stroking_ , his tone almost _teasing_. The worm had oozed halfway onto their shoulder.

Kamael jerked away, breaking contact. “Great. Use them. Have a seat.”

“Here on the dirt?” he drawled, shuffling a bit with his feet before settling down cross-legged. “I thought you’d take me somewhere nice.”

“Why?” Kamael knelt across from him. “Is that—what sort of business did you think I had with you?”

He chuckled, spinning the woman’s coin in his fingers. “The humans in the market think I’m a prostitute. That means you’d be hiring me to perform sexual acts,” he clarified, unnecessarily. Kamael knew what a prostitute was, thank you very much.

“That’s disgusting.”

“Is it? Plenty of people find me attractive.”

Kamael folded their arms. “How nice for you. Now, the reason—”

“Sunshine, are you _jealous_?” Iblis closed his fist around the coin, a smile dancing on his lips.

“I don’t know what you mean.” They sniffed. “So you’re tempting a few humans to lust. That’s a paltry thing compared to the fact that my principality in Europe has effectively thwarted your snake’s plan for the entire continent.”

Iblis raised an eyebrow. “What plan was that?”

“Oh, you don’t even know.” Kamael could relax, now that it was clear they had the upper hand. “Your demon spread smallpox into Europe. But Aziraphale created a patron saint of smallpox, so as the disease spreads, prayers spread too. Prayers to Heaven.”

Iblis looked astonished for a moment, then grinned widely. “How about that. Smallpox in Europe. And you know as well as I do that those barbarians are going to carry it all over the world. Good for Crowley.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” demanded Kamael. “However far it spreads, it’s just going to make people pray more.”

“I have infinitely more confidence in the spread of disease than in the spread of your saint’s patronage,” scoffed Iblis. “A saint of smallpox. Is that really all your fellow could come up with?”

Kamael narrowed their eyes. They were glad now that Aziraphale had thought of the trip to China, even if they hadn’t quite understood the connection to camels. Better keep that bit of thwarting close to the chest, they decided, and let Iblis’ question go unanswered.

“Why don’t you pull him off Earth and send down someone tougher?” encouraged Iblis. “A lean, mean fighting machine! I know you’ve got some up there.”

Kamael almost asked if Iblis was thinking about Michael. They wondered if he knew how badly his Fall had shaken her. Well, there was no point in telling him. Dangerous information for a demon to have.

“Aziraphale is perfect on Earth,” they said firmly. “He’s good with the humans. Everyone likes him. I doubt you could say the same for your agent.”

“I don’t know. Crowley hasn’t mentioned it one way or the other.” Iblis shrugged, head turning sightlessly toward the marketplace. “ _I_ certainly don’t have a problem getting people to like me.”

“Well don’t let me keep you from your _admirers_ ,” said Kamael, lip curling in contempt. Before they could think better of it, they sneered, “Are you going to fuck them all?”

Iblis leaned forward. “Oh, you’re interested in fucking now?”

Kamael sprang to their feet, wings snapping out to their full spread. They should have known better than to try to shame Iblis at his own game. “Of course not. I’ll leave you to it. _Worm_.”

A single wingbeat carried them halfway to Heaven, and they didn’t look back.

* * *

Aziraphale found Crowley in China. In retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised.

The serpent was just as beautiful as Aziraphale remembered. He wore the light red clothing of a government official above the fifth grade, a position that Aziraphale suspected wasn’t necessary for Crowley’s work but had been chosen instead to compliment his vanity. The clothing _did_ bring out the color of his hair.

But when Aziraphale saw him, Crowley wasn’t trying to impress anyone. He slumped over a table full of ale bowls, emanating misery and ignoring the fragrant plate of wonton at his elbow.

“Goodness, Crowley.” Aziraphale tried to sound disapproving, but it came out worried. “What happened to you?”

“Good performance review," the demon grunted. "Iblis is really happy with my work on smallpox.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips. “I can imagine he is.”

“Yeah, except _I didn’t do it_.”

“You didn’t?” Aziraphale sat hesitantly beside Crowley. “Whatever do you mean?”

Crowley turned toward him, eyes wild and distraught behind tinted glass. “Of course I didn’t do it, angel! All these people suffering and dying? All those _children_?” He took a deep drink.

Aziraphale folded his hands, hastily rearranging his thoughts. “Well...I’m sorry, then.”

“What are _you_ sorry for? Not like you invented the bloody disease.”

“No, but I—I told Kamael that it was you, Crowley. I didn’t know for sure, of course, but I thought well, it seemed so Hellish, and you’re the only demon I knew of in the area, and, well, I thought even if it wasn’t you, you’d like to be blamed for it, and...”

Crowley stared at him, jaw working silently for a few moments. “That’s—you—uh.” He swallowed. “I suppose I should say thank you?”

“Better not.” Aziraphale felt embarrassed and giddy all at once. Crowley didn't do it. Crowley didn't even _want_ to have done it. Maybe Aziraphale's ridiculous love had settled on a decent sort of demon, after all. He pointed at the steaming plate next to Crowley’s drink. “May I have one of those?”

“Have them all.” Crowley pushed the wonton over and watched Aziraphale lift one eagerly to his lips.

It tasted every bit as marvelous as it smelled. _Kamael would like these_ , Aziraphale thought, beaming at Crowley. _But it’s better to have my--to have Crowley back._

They ate and drank in companionable quiet, until the last wonton was gone and Crowley had drained every drop of his ale. He stood up and said with no preamble, “I’ve found the doctor who’s inoculating people against smallpox. Want to pay him a visit?”

“Oh, Crowley, I’d love that,” said Aziraphale, gratified at being able to use the words _Crowley_ and _love_ in a sentence together.

As they walked side by side down the streets of Chengdu, neither said _I missed you_ and neither said _I forgive you_. But Aziraphale felt certain they’d come to some kind of unspoken Arrangement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things I researched: revelation of the Quran, history of smallpox, the Tang dynasty  
> things I didn't research: almost everything else, including how cider was bottled in the seventh century  
> things I got wrong despite the research I did or didn't do: probably lots
> 
> thank you, as always, for reading! <3


	6. Temptations

_After the War._  
_Before everything else._

Iblis didn’t quite Fall. Neither did he saunter vaguely downwards. No, he simply decided to outsource his core competencies due to a paradigm shift.

The Metatron had announced a divine directive for all angels to bow before Adam and Eve, the Almighty’s favored creations. The archangels had taken the lead—first Michael, then Kamael, then Uriel and Sandalphon. They spread their wings to the fullest extent and prostrated themselves on the dirt of Eden.

Gabriel stared in bewilderment from his colleagues to the humans. Eve and Adam were wingless, fleshy, fragile. They had only two eyes each and they were still crusted with the mud of their creation. They stood hand in hand, observing the archangels with no more reverence than they showed the grass beneath their feet.

Michael straightened, noticed Gabriel still standing, and frowned. She motioned him to the ground.

“I don’t think the Metatron meant _us_ ,” he said in a loud whisper. He was embarrassed for Michael and the others that they had misinterpreted so egregiously.

She snapped back, “If they meant ‘all angels except archangels’ they would have said so. Come _on_ , Gabriel.”

He stayed upright. Kamael moved their slender form to Michael’s side, fixing Gabriel with a cool blue stare. “It is your duty to bow.”

“It’s ridiculous,” he scoffed. “I can’t believe— _all_ of you—Michael, really? Look at _us_. Look at _them_.”

Kamael lifted their chin. “What do appearances matter?”

Michael was growing agitated, eyes blinking and wings fluttering. She gestured to the ripples in the surrounding air. “All the choirs are waiting for you, Gabriel. You’re an angel, you have to do what you’re told—”

Kamael reached a calming hand toward Michael, although their eyes remained locked on Gabriel’s face. “ _Are_ you an angel?”

Gabriel considered the rest of the archangels, every one of them willingly debased before these little clay figurines, these clods of earth. Even Michael. Especially Michael. She had gone _first_.

She was reaching for him now, ignoring Kamael’s restraint, her fierce hands ready to push Gabriel to his knees. He could let her do it. He could obey, and remain in Heaven, forever humbled.

His eyes flicked back to the challenge on Kamael’s face. _Are you an angel?_

“No,” he said, contempt edging his tone. “I don’t think I am.”

In that instant, the ground shuddered and cracked open at his feet. He stepped readily into the chasm, turning his back on Michael even as she screamed a name that didn’t belong to him anymore. The last thing he heard, before he was engulfed in Hellfire, was Kamael’s low voice.

 _He’s gone._ _H_ _e’s gone._ _L_ _et him go_.

* * *

THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

Iblis tapped his way through the smoky tavern, navigating smoothly around tables and barrels. He heard and felt the displacement of air as people moved out of his way—partly because of his eyes, partly because of the cane. He’d taken a liking to the cane several hundred years ago, when a blind woman had given it to him.

At first Iblis had been offended. As if the Lord of Hell needed a mobility aid. He had occult senses a human could never dream of. Then, when the woman kept insisting that he try it, he’d been amused. She must be a pitiful creature, using this interaction to create meaning in her sad little life.

He’d decided to tempt her to Vanity. He praised her generosity and admired her demonstration of cane travel. He tried adding Lust by encouraging her to touch his body as she taught him, but she’d been singularly uninterested.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” she’d told him briskly, before bidding him farewell. He never saw her again.

Iblis kept the cane, discovering that it was, in fact, very useful. However, he didn’t need it to find the archangel who was waiting for him here. His cloudy eyes still provided limited impressions of light and shadow, and the _brightness_ pouring from one corner of the room was almost enough to blind him twice over. Not that humans could see it. They never could.

Iblis moved closer and caught Kamael’s distinctive smell, a blend of honey and hot metal. His mind conjured up memories of their appearance—shiny black hair swirling over their shoulders, small stern face, bony limbs.

He felt for the bench they were on, and took a seat beside them. “Hello, sunshine.”

“Hush, worm,” Kamael admonished in greeting. “A human is about to start singing.”

Iblis heard the rising, reedy voice of a young troubadour, and he found it a poor comparison to Kamael’s deep harmonies. He couldn’t imagine why they cared to listen.

Then he heard his own name. 

The troubadour sang,  
  
_Iblis had knowledge, but he had no love,_  
_and when God created Adam,_  
_Iblis saw only a being of clay._

The demon chuckled. He kept careful track of everything humans wrote about him. Unfortunately, he'd left Heaven too late to be included in the Bible alongside Lucifer, but he'd been given a starring role in the Quran. The spread of Islam had given him a lot of press. He recognized this particular stanza as the work of the poet Rumi.

Iblis leaned toward Kamael. “ _Knowledge, but no love_. Sounds more like you than me, to be honest.”

Kamael ignored the jab. “You must be pleased with how your name is getting around. Do you know what else they say about you?”

Iblis preened. “A lot of terrible things.”

“They say you’re on probation,” Kamael went on. “That you can be redeemed, if you’ll ever swallow your pride and bow to humans.”

That ridiculous story wasn’t news to Iblis. Humans were so self-centered, imagining that he'd ever change his mind and genuflect before them. He shook his head. “You know, Kamael, I was surprised that _you_ agreed to bow. You always seemed so stiff.”

“It was my duty,” they responded.

“Ah, yes, I suppose that does sound like you. Duty before all else.” Iblis reached out to explore the surface of the table with his long fingers, wondering if there was anything to drink. “Certainly before anyone’s feelings.”

Kamael pushed a full mug into his hand, even as their tone sharpened. “You’re one to talk. You devastated Michael with your stupid pride.”

“Couple of heart-breakers, aren’t we?” Iblis sipped the warm ale. “I guess that’s something we have in common.”

The sound of heavy human footsteps broke into the conversation, and a platter was set down in front of Kamael. “Here you go, my lord—I mean, my lady!”

“Neither is fine,” said Kamael flatly.

“Uh, yes, my—yes.” The human’s body shifted and he paused a little bit too long. Iblis knew that he was trying not to stare at the demon’s white eyes. “Would you like something to eat? My, uh, lord?”

Iblis gave him a toothy smile. Here was something else he and Kamael had in common: the profound pleasure of making humans uncomfortable. “I’ll just share with my friend,” he said.

“I am not your _friend_ ,” snarled Kamael as the server’s steps retreated. “And I am not _sharing_.”

Iblis’s grin grew wider. He didn’t much care for food, but needling Kamael was one of his favorite activities. “You didn’t summon me here to be seduced by your fragrant delicacies? I’m disappointed, Kamael. What other reason could you possibly have for this meeting?”

Instead of answering right away, Kamael bit into their food. It sounded wet and juicy. It smelled like meat and spices. Iblis listened to them chew, imagining what else he could put between their lips. The passing centuries had done nothing to blunt his desire for the archangel. He wanted to fuck that sharp-tongued mouth, and he didn’t care what was under their robes, a cock or a cunt or a cloaca, he wanted to fuck that too.

Kamael took a long drink, and Iblis savored the wet sound of their swallow. He was considering sticking a hand under his own robe, just for something to do while he waited, when Kamael finally spoke. “What the Hell is your pet snake playing at?”

“Tempting left and right, I assume. Why do you ask?”

“Temping humans?” pressed Kamael.

Iblis raised an eyebrow. “Who else would he be tempting? Aardvarks?”

“Well, you just make sure he sticks to humans. I don’t want him going after my angels. No direct interference, isn’t that the Plan?”

Iblis scoffed. “No direct inference my ass, your angels _thwart_.”

“They’re supposed to encourage humans to do the actual thwarting,” said Kamael stiffly. “But I’m telling you that Crawly—”

“Crowley,” Iblis corrected.

“Whatever. Your snake is targeting my principality, and that’s not okay.”

Iblis lifted his mug and poured back a generous measure of ale. “Aw, did your soft little angel come running to complain? Couldn’t handle the big scary demon on his own?”

“He didn’t _complain_ ,” growled Kamael. “As far as I can tell, Aziraphale thinks Crowley is being _nice_ to him. Apparently Crowley buys him food, takes him to shows. What the actual fuck, Iblis.”

Iblis had to admit that sounded pretty weird. “All right, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

_Are you tempting an angel_. What the bloody Heaven kind of question was that, thought Crowley, shaking his head as he strolled toward Aziraphale’s residence with flowers in one hand and dinner in the other.

He’d told Iblis _yes_ , because Iblis seemed all ready to write him a commendation for it. But Crowley wasn’t really tempting Aziraphale. He was—what was he doing again? Oh, right. He was keeping the angel distracted so he’d be less likely to thwart Crowley’s schemes. And he was cultivating an external ally, in case he ever ended up on the wrong side of one of Hell’s frequent internecine quarrels. A serpent should always have an extra bolthole.

It didn’t hurt that Aziraphale was exceedingly pleasant to look at. To listen to. To smell. And, as Crowley hoped to find out very soon, to touch.

“Come in, my dear, come in! Oh, look at these lilacs, they’re quite striking. Did you bring lamb pies? And apple tarts? You’re too kind!”

Crowley winced at the compliment, mumbled a half-hearted protest, and then sprawled at the table to watch Aziraphale eat.

The angel was too pretty, that was the real problem. Crowley couldn’t possibly tempt him, because he was too busy being tempted, himself. That strong soft body just sang out for Crowley to curl around it. Those well-kept hands took such care with everything they touched. And those blue eyes had gazed so coquettishly up at Crowley when Aziraphale had told him to “pay a visit whenever you like, dear boy, my new place is so cozy.”

And the mouth. That fucking mouth.

Aziraphale’s mouth was currently accepting a morsel of pie from Aziraphale’s fork, lips pressing delicately around the hot crust, tongue peeking out to collect a drip of gravy. Crowley shifted in his seat and adjusted his tunic.

After centuries of meeting in markets and taverns, on fields of battle and fields of wheat, Crowley was finally in Aziraphale’s home for the first time. He’d been _invited_. He tore his gaze away from Aziraphale’s glistening lips just long enough to glance through a doorway and confirm the presence of a bed. Yes, tonight was the night.

After the meal, Aziraphale rummaged through his cupboards for a bottle of wine to share. They talked and laughed as they drank, and Aziraphale brought out a second bottle, then a third. Eventually, his gaze began to drift toward the bedroom.

Crowley licked his lips, trying not to seem too eager. “Something on your mind, angel?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks grew pink. “Well, when you arrived, I’d just begun this magnificent new book. It’s called _Comedìa_ , by a remarkably insightful Italian named Dante Alighieri. Your visit has been a lovely distraction, but I’d rather like to get back to it.”

“A book.” Crowley swallowed once, twice. He couldn’t keep down the rising bile. “You want to get back to your book?”

“It’s a very good book.” Aziraphale blinked at him. “My dear, are you quite all right? Was the wine too much?”

The wine must have indeed been too much, because Crowley’s mouth kept moving, despite clear instructions to the contrary from his brain. “Aren’t you going to invite me to stay?”

“Stay?” Aziraphale echoed. The adorable purse of his lips grew into a frown. “Do you mean—Crowley, are you _propositioning_ me?”

“Yesss,” said Crowley wretchedly, wondering why he hadn’t turned into a blessed snake and slithered out of here yet.

The angel’s fingers laced together over the beautiful curve of his belly, which Crowley hated himself for noticing. “My dear, that’s—that’s rather unethical, given our business association.”

“Right. Yeah, right, got it.” Crowley staggered to his feet and threw himself out the door. He was almost fast enough to miss Aziraphale’s concerned call, “Mind how you go!”

Crowley slunk through the dark streets at top slinking speed. He was humiliated, and furious, and still so aroused he could barely see straight. He wanted to get off, he _needed_ to get off, and if he used his hand he’d start crying. He needed someone to fuck.

Humans were off the menu. Right now Crowley couldn’t keep up pretenses, and he’d destroy some poor sap’s sanity with his eyes or his tongue or his scales. As for demons, most of them turned his stomach. In fact, he could only think of one demon who maintained his physical appearance to decent standards.

So Crowley sashayed into Iblis’ office, fully aware that this was one of the worst ideas he’d ever had, and announced himself.

“Appointments must be booked in advance,” said Iblis automatically, his fingers tracing line by raised line down the latest stack of reports.

Crowley kicked the door shut behind him and dropped his tunic to the floor. “Fuck me.”

Iblis’ hand stopped moving. He lifted his head, nostrils flaring as he took in the scent of Crowley’s desperation. He didn’t say _Wh_ _at_ _?_ or _Are you sure?_ and he definitely didn’t say _That_ _’s rather unethical, given our business as_ _s_ _ociation._

He just stood up and tapped his desk. “Come here.”


	7. Confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains not-super-graphic consensual sex, and a couple of characters worry very briefly about the potential for rape, but it's clearly not going to happen.

“I love him, Kamael, that’s the problem.”

The archangel lifted their head from where it had fallen against the principality’s shoulder and blinked at him in drunken confusion. As far as Kamael could remember, they had been discussing the relative merits of honeybees and houseflies.

“Who?”

Aziraphale made a wretched little sound. “You know.”

It was getting hard to hold their head up, so Kamael dropped it back onto Aziraphale’s extremely comfortable shoulder. “I really don’t.”

“We were just talking about them a few minutes ago. The, the _demons_. You were saying how frustrating it is to work with someone who happens to be so attractive, ’member?”

“Work _against_. Not _with_. Didn’ say work _with_.” Kamael held out their empty cup and watched Aziraphale pour another measure of mead.

Kamael liked visiting Aziraphale on Earth. Half their delight was the principality’s talent for gleaning only the best from humanity’s hodgepodge of experiments and inventions—like this marvelous honey wine. The other half was Aziraphale himself.

He listened more attentively than any angel up Above, which sometimes made Kamael talk too much, but they never had to worry about that either. After all, Aziraphale was practically an exile. He wasn’t about to go repeating what Kamael said to anyone who mattered. So the archangel could call a demon lord “attractive” without the least concern that it would be misunderstood as an affront to Heaven.

Kamael had once tried talking to Michael about Iblis. As the centuries ticked toward Armageddon, Kamael wanted to know if she held out any hope for Iblis’ return to their side. Ally or foe, he’d be a formidable warrior, and it was time to start strategizing.

Michael had dismissed the idea of Iblis’ redemption as “a false human fantasy,” her expression impassive. Then Uriel had hurried past with a wave of her hand, and Michael had cracked a tiny but very bright smile. Kamael had dropped the subject.

After all, whether or not redemption was on the table, it didn’t seem likely that Iblis would ever reach for it. He got more prideful and depraved each time they met. Kamael loathed everything about him, especially how handsome he was.

It had been a relief to complain about Iblis’ stupid good looks to Aziraphale, and hear the principality confess that he felt the same way about Crowley.

Except, what he felt was actually much worse.

“Are you saying you _love_ the Serpent of Eden?”

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

Kamael swallowed some more mead and considered it.

“Nah,” they decided. “You don’t.”

A few thousand years ago, Aziraphale would surely have accepted this correction. But now he jostled their head with his shoulder and said rather cheekily, “I do know what love feels like, Kamael.”

“But _he_ doesn’t,” they pointed out. Having lost its balance, their head slid down the gentle curve of Aziraphale’s belly and came to rest in his lap.

“No, I suppose demons don’t. Won’t?” Aziraphale sighed again, and petted Kamael’s hair. The gentle touch felt like having their wings groomed. They made a low, pleased rumble. “Comfortable?” he asked, almost teasing.

“Mm. You’re soft,” they mumbled appreciatively, trying to hold on to the thread of conversation. “Demons don’t, won’t, _can’t_. I told you, he’s jus’ trying to tempt you.”

“Oh, he stopped all that nonsense,” said Aziraphale sadly. He drained the rest of his cup. “And he’s gotten dreadfully easy to thwart.”

“Hey, after five and a half millennia, you must be getting good at your job,” Kamael said, trying to cheer him up.

Aziraphale didn’t seem to hear. “Most of the time he just sleeps. Once he napped for fifty years straight.”

Kamael snickered into the other angel’s padded doublet. “He really is pitiful, isn’t he? I’monna tell—”

“Oh don’t, please don’t tell Lord Iblis.” Aziraphale looked down at them, distraught. “What if he replaces Crowley with a different demon? Someone better at his job?”

“Someone less attractive, y’mean?” said Kamael. “Fine. Keep your pretty snake, until it’s time to run him through with a sword. Oh, _bollocks_!” They closed their eyes and groaned, missing how the blood drained from Aziraphale’s face. “I still have to find you a new weapon. Meant to, last millennium.” The cherubs in munitions could be so petty. Maybe Michael would be willing to deal with them.

“More mead?” offered Aziraphale abruptly. Kamael held out their cup. As he filled it, Aziraphale commented, “Did you know that certain flies can make honey, too?”

“You were sayin’ that. Funny place, Earth.”

“I wonder if people will ever think of fermenting it? Fly mead would be quite something.”

Kamael hiccuped. “They’ve got four hundred years to give it a try.”

* * *

Aziraphale knew he should be pleased with how few wiles Crowley was employing these days. Instead, he worried. Although Crowley had always shied away from the nastier aspects of Hell’s agenda, he certainly enjoyed making mischief. And yet Aziraphale couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Crowley so much as glue a half-crown to the cobbles.

He wondered if the demon was receiving new instructions from Below. After a few weeks of careful reconnaissance, Aziraphale caught an imp nosing along the south bank of the Thames, looking for a way across. He offered it a biscuit in exchange for the message it carried, and it handed over a dirty piece of paper at once.

“I took dictation from Lord Iblis,” the imp chattered, mouth full of crumbs. “I’m very good at it. I know all the letters.”

Aziraphale’s indulgent smile faded as he read the note. Frowning, he read it again, lips moving to sound out the words. _Yur korterle report iz d_ _u_ _tonit. I dont hav alot ov tim so ware a dres._

“Reading my mail now, are we?” A lean black shape peeled out of the shadows and snatched the message from Aziraphale’s fingers. “Isn’t that a bit _unethical_?”

Aziraphale pressed a hand over his thumping heart. He had not expected Crowley to turn up quite so suddenly, and while he wasn’t _afraid_ , such an abrupt appearance took getting used to.

Crowley glanced at the message and then back at Aziraphale. His expression was flat, eyes unreadable behind dark lenses.

“Crowley, are you—is he—” Aziraphale wrung his hands and nodded to the paper. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“I can’t read your bloody mind, now can I?”

“I think in this case it’s not too difficult,” said the angel stiffly. “But very well. Are you engaged in carnal relations with the demon Iblis?”

Crowley’s mouth curled into a snarl. “Sure.”

“How—how long has this been going on?”

“None of your Heaven-blessed business!” He crumpled the paper and threw it into the river, where it caught and spun in a lazy eddy.

The imp tugged at Aziraphale’s hose. “Can I have another biscuit?”

The angel gave it one and shooed it away. He looked at Crowley. “I just—”

“Why is this bothering you?” Crowley interrupted. “I’m a demon. Did you _forget_ that we’re debased creatures of vice and iniquity?”

“No, no, it’s not—” Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Do you _want_ to be doing this?”

“I did, yeah, until you started interrogating me about it.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Aziraphale knew his concern was unwelcome, and it made him cross. “Excuse me for not wanting to see you . . . taken advantage of. Or raped.”

Crowley’s voice softened, although his face didn’t. “Yeah, that’s—that’s not what this is, angel.”

“Fine.” Aziraphale didn’t have any reason to stay here on the dark riverbank. There was nothing to thwart. Just because he hadn’t heard Crowley call him _angel_ for a couple hundred years wasn’t a reason to prolong this interaction.

“Have a nice time, then,” he said, in the same tone that he might use to comment on an excessive quantity of horse ordure, and walked off.

He glanced over his shoulder once, to see Crowley staring at the note in the river. It burst into flame.

* * *

Crowley picked out a red and black gown with pile-on-pile velvet and pearls, and tried not to think about how good he’d look on Aziraphale’s arm, with the angel in his fine white doublet and hose.

He tried to focus instead on how easily Iblis lifted him against the wall, on how deftly the demon lord’s hand worked between his thighs. Crowley managed to enjoy the hot breath on his throat, and even the damp kiss of the tentacles that emerged from Iblis’ cheeks when he got excited.

But his thoughts kept slipping back to the protective sound of Aziraphale’s voice on the riverbank.

He didn’t do anything so gauche as cry out the angel’s name. Still, he must have given himself away somehow, because Iblis stopped pumping his hips and murmured against Crowley’s jaw, “You’re thinking about someone else.”

Crowley whined at the lack of friction. He retorted breathlessly, recklessly, “So? Aren’t you?”

“No. I’m not.”

But Crowley caught the fractional pause before those confident words. He’d been in the temptation game too long to miss a moment of weakness. He scoffed, “Father of lies.”

“That’s the big boss, not me,” corrected Iblis. Then he laughed incredulously. “ _He_ _’s_ not the one you’re thinking of, is he?”

“Ha. No.” Crowley wriggled his hips and twisted his wrists where Iblis held them pinned to the wall with one hand. “Will you unkindly get on with it?”

“Of course.” Iblis’ other hand wrapped around Crowley’s thigh, hauling him up to a better angle. “Fuck, there’s nothing to you, is there? Featherweight.”

Crowley got the impression that those words weren’t quite addressed to him, but he forgot about it when his brain helpfully suggested that Aziraphale would be able to lift him just like this. Crowley thought of those warm hands holding him steady and those perfect pink lips pressed to his skin. Some shriveled organ in his chest that he didn’t remember the name of sang out _angel, angel, angel_ as he shuddered and came against Iblis.

The other demon finished a few minutes later, fingers digging into Crowley’s hip and teeth sinking into his shoulder. Then he pulled out and set Crowley on his feet. His touch was neither harsh nor gentle. He held Crowley as you might hold a slender vase wobbling on a table, until you were sure it wouldn’t fall over.

When Iblis let go, Crowley did not fall over. He wrapped his own arms tightly around himself, squeezed his eyes shut, and said, “Idon’twanttodothisanymore.”

Iblis was silent for so long that Crowley finally opened his eyes again. The demon lord was gazing sightlessly into the distance, hands folded in front of his face, one tentacle stroking the fingers that were still wet from being inside Crowley. For the first time Crowley was seized by fear, realizing that he’d gotten himself into this, and what if he couldn’t get out of it—

“You’re absolutely right,” said Iblis. “Armageddon is just a few centuries away, isn’t it? We should be concentrating on that. No more time for frivolous distractions.”

“Uh, yeah, exactly. That’s exactly what I was thinking. Got to stay focused.” Crowley tried to remember the assignments doled out at the last all-hands meeting. “I’ll get that order of Satanic nuns set up, shall I?”

“Yes, very good. I’ll check on the Four Riders. Blow the dust off, so to speak.” Iblis forced a chuckle.

“Okay. Right. _Ciao_.” Crowley turned to go.

Iblis reached out and gave the velvet one last appreciative stroke. “By the way, that is a _very_ nice dress.”

* * *

Lord Iblis was glad to be working for his dark master, scouring the four corners of Earth for the four entities who would end it. He wasn’t sulking over the loss of his serpentine fuck buddy, and he _definitely_ wasn’t keeping his senses on high alert for any trace of one particular archangel’s caustic holiness.

War was the easiest to find, joyously inciting rebellions against the Ming dynasty. Famine was a few long strides away, leaching the lifeblood of Russia. Iblis gave them both an estimated time frame for the final project and a double thumbs-up. As for Death, Iblis knew _he_ was always exactly where he needed to be. That left only one.

Pestilence reigned in Peru, laughing himself sick over the hemorrhagic version of smallpox that European colonizers had brought to the Andes. Iblis had expected favorable long-term consequences of the disease, but the devastation surpassed even his most optimistic models. He dictated a congratulatory note to Crowley on the spot.

But the most astonishing thing to happen in Peru was that Iblis got recognized.

Not by humans. And not as a fallen angel. No, he was taking a well-earned break, relaxing by the river, when a long smooth creature wound its way up from the mud, oozed across Iblis’ belly, sniffed his face with two short tentacles, and made a brief and ill-advised attempt to inseminate him.

Iblis had never encountered a creature on Earth that felt so familiar. He’d always assumed that earthworms were his closest relatives, but compared to this, they now seemed as distant as flies or fish.

He explored the firm, slippery body with his hands. It had a strong jaw and a hard head like his own. When he released it, the animal slid back into the river, and Iblis followed, taking the form that he used to think of as a giant earthworm. Not anymore.

Quite a few of these creatures swam in the water. It was cool and comfortable. Everything smelled and tasted good.

Iblis didn’t usually have much interest in food, but this was a special occasion. He swam along the river in search of a meal to suit his substantial size. A few miles downstream he found a horse with its front hooves in the water, bending to drink. He lunged up and swallowed it whole.

It was delicious. Iblis decided right then and there to take a vacation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't think there are any true flies that make honey, but Aziraphale's probably thinking of aphids, who make [honeydew](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Honeydew_\(secretion\)).
> 
> We'll talk a bit more about Iblis' new friends in the next chapter, but if you're curious now, it's [these guys](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caecilian).


	8. Fraternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some more sexytimes near the end of this chapter, still keeping it M though

Crowley was basking on a beach in the south of France. He felt he’d earned a holiday, after a miserable month in Paris spent documenting the increasingly bloody revolution that he’d had nothing to do with, thank you very much, but that he’d better take credit for all the same.

He had just finished a lovely dip in the sea and was dozing off on the sand when a voice startled him awake.

No, not a voice. A Voice. Also, a Light. Crowley grabbed his sunglasses, which didn’t make the slightest difference.

“ **Crowley** ,” said the Voice. “ **Where is the angel I gave you?** ”

The demon knew very well Who was questioning him. He just didn’t know what the question meant. “Angel . . . ?” he stammered. “You . . . gave?”

The Voice did not see fit to explain any further.

And damn it all to Hell, Crowley _did_ know, didn’t he? He took a deep breath and reached out with his occult senses. Last he’d heard of Aziraphale, the angel had been setting up a nice little bookshop in London, but he wasn’t there now. He was—

“Oh _shit_.”

“ **That’s what I thought**.”

Crowley shook the sand from his clothes, fixed his hair, and shot off for Paris like a snake out of Hell.

* * *

“Honestly, angel, for _crepes_.” Crowley stabbed a forkful of the prized food and considered it with a dubious expression. Once freed from the Bastille, Aziraphale had led the way to a quiet restaurant on the outskirts of the city and ordered eagerly for both of them. “Why didn’t you just use a miracle?”

“Then Kamael would have _known_ , and I wanted it to be a surprise.” Aziraphale took a bite and sighed in pleasure. “They’ve never tasted crepes before, Crowley. Never, can you imagine?”

Crowley, who appreciated crepes primarily for the noises they elicited from his angel, rolled his eyes. “You think your boss would rather deal with your discorporation than a ruined surprise?”

“Oh, it does sound foolish when you put it like that.” Aziraphale’s cheeks turned nearly as red as his hat. “I wouldn’t really have let that butcher cut off my head, you know. I would have figured something out.”

“You would’ve had to figure it out right bloody quick.” _And Someone Upstairs certainly thought you needed help._ Crowley scowled at his plate. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about being the _machina_ in a _deus ex_. “Must be a terrible disappointment, having lunch with me instead of Prince Icicle.”

“Don’t be absurd, my dear boy. This is lovely. I’ll bring crepes to Kamael another time.” Aziraphale flagged the waiter and ordered a second bottle of wine in adorably bad French, then turned an earnest gaze on Crowley. “I do appreciate the gallant rescue.”

“Don’t mention it,” grunted the demon, who was pretty sure he couldn’t pass off a “gallant rescue” as temptation of even the subtlest kind.

“You were so very—”

“Said _don’t mention it_.” Crowley bared his teeth.

Aziraphale smiled at him indulgently. “Very well. Did you know some clever gentlemen started a Zoological Club, right near my bookshop in Soho? I’ve joined a few meetings. They have the most fanciful ideas, and they bring all sorts of marvelous specimens to show off.”

“Are you hinting that you’d like to bring a giant snake?”

“Oh, _c_ _ould_ I?” Aziraphale’s eyes lit up and he shimmied in his seat. “They’d be ever so impressed.”

“Would they be more or less impressed if I swallowed one of them?” The new wine had arrived, and Crowley reached for the bottle.

“Hmm, perhaps we’d better stick a pin in it,” said Aziraphale, after a moment’s reflection. “Will you fill me up, my dear?”

Crowley almost dropped the bottle on the floor. “Fill you—what?”

Aziraphale nudged his empty glass forward. “Fill me up, if you please?”

“Ah. Right. Sure. Yep.” Crowley packed the sound of the angel saying those words into his mental lockbox of filthy fantasies, and managed to get wine into both of their glasses.

“Thank you.” Aziraphale gave him a warm, oblivious smile. “At the last meeting, one gentleman shared a story of a big slithery monster called a Minhocão, from the lakes of South America. It reminded me of you, but you haven’t been to the New World recently, have you?”

Crowley grinned. All of Hell knew about the Minhocão. “Nah, that’s Iblis. He figured out that he’s a caecilian, not a worm, and he’s been having loads of fun with it.”

“A Sicilian?” Aziraphale blinked and sipped his wine. “Then what’s he doing in South America?”

“Not Sicilian, caecilian,” corrected Crowley. “’S a kind of amphibian. Like a frog or a newt.”

“Newts are cute,” opined Aziraphale.

“Yeah, all right. Anyway, a caecilian is to a newt as a snake is to a lizard. It’s got no legs.”

Aziraphale shook his head firmly. “No, Crowley, a newt has legs. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s my point, angel. Snake’s just a lizard without legs, innit? So a caecilian’s a newt without legs.”

“Oh, I see. Of course.” Aziraphale nodded happily. Then he frowned. “Crowley, what’s the difference between a lizard and a newt?”

Crowley sighed. “I told you. Lizards and snakes are reptiles. Live on land. Dry and scaly. Newts and caecilians are ambi—amif—wet buggers. Need lots of water. All slippery and slimy.”

“Goodness.” Aziraphale looked into his glass, avoiding the demon’s eyes. “I suppose that must be interesting when you and Iblis, well.”

Crowley’s mouth suddenly _felt_ dry and scaly. He took a gulp of wine. “We’re, uh. We’re not, anymore.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale glanced up.

 _Don’t ask_ _me_ _why_ , Crowley thought desperately. _I_ _’ll say something stupid or mean,_ _or_ _I’ll have to bite my tongue in half to keep from_ _propositioning you again._

 _Ask_ _me_ _why_ , Crowley thought with his next breath. _I’ll_ _say that_ _it’s your fault,_ _that you’ve ruined me for anyone else, that_ _you’re all I want even_ _if_ _I_ _can never have_ _you._ _S_ _omething’s clearly wrong with me, can you tell me what it is?_

Aziraphale didn’t ask why. He cleared his throat and changed the subject for the second time. “Have you read Mr. Cowper’s poem about Boudica? It made me think of you.”

Crowley shook his head, fingers gripping his wine glass much too tight. “Don’t know this Cowper fellow.”

“Oh, my dear, he’s only one of the most famous poets of the century! He took a bit of literary license with Boudica’s story, I’ll admit, but the result is quite beautiful. In the final stanza, the dying queen speaks to the Romans:  
  
 _Ruffians, pitiless as proud,_  
 _Heaven awards the vengeance due:_  
 _Empire is on us bestowed,_  
 _Shame and ruin wait for you._ ”

Crowley blinked slowly. He was drunk, and it was easier to enjoy the solemn melody of Aziraphale’s recitation than to understand the words. But he’d caught at least one reference. “Heaven, eh?”

Aziraphale laughed nervously. “I read that, and I started thinking that perhaps I was meant to help Boudica, after all. At the time I thought that you tricked me, but maybe it was all part of the ineffable plan.”

“Maybe it was,” allowed Crowley, thinking of _the angel I gave you_.

“In any case, I’m sorry I was so cross about it.” Aziraphale lifted the wine bottle. “Forgive me?”

Crowley’s mouth, taking instruction from a part of his body that definitely wasn’t his brain, opened and said, “Sure, angel, if you fill me up.”

* * *

Kamael wasn’t very impressed with Hell. They’d only been here half a minute, and already the muck was seeping through the soles of their boots. The dim, flickering light strongly encouraged a headache. Several imps had fled at their appearance, while a few others had flopped on their backs to play dead, creating an authentic stink of putrefaction. And the air was filled with an unholy high-pitched shrieking.

“What _is_ that?” Kamael asked one of the “dead” imps irritably. “Some kind of alarm? Shut it off.”

“All right, love, calm down,” came a soft voice from behind them.

Kamael whirled around, ready to point out that they weren’t the least bit upset, and also smite whoever dared address them in such a familiar manner. But the voice hadn’t been addressing them. An orange-eyed demon with a lizard on his head muttered soothingly as he squeezed the shoulder of a taller, frog-bearing demon. The latter's mouth hung wide open, his black eyes pinned to Kamael as he emitted a few more ear-piercing screams.

“Angel! Archangel! In Hell!” At least he was using words now. “Just bloody _appeared_ in the middle of my meditation on evil! Didn’t know they could _do_ that!”

Kamael gazed back at him with something like amusement, and decided not to tell him that most angels _couldn’t_ do this, and of those few who could, Kamael was probably the only one who’d ever bothered to try.

As the lizard demon soothed the frog demon into relative quiet, Kamael lifted one boot from the sticky floor. It made a vile slurping noise. They gritted their teeth, set it down again, and started walking.

“Oi, where d’you think you’re going, wankwings?” demanded the lizard demon.

“This way,” said Kamael over their shoulder, and stepped into an open tunnel.

Kamael didn’t want to be here any more than the demons wanted them here. But Armageddon was just a couple hundred years away, and they needed to know what Heaven would be up against. They hadn’t seen Iblis in too damn long, hadn’t even heard rumors of him on Earth. Direct reconnaissance was their only option.

They wandered through corridors and caverns, selecting a route at random. They saw more sores than swords, more funk than fire. Most of the demons they encountered looked either apathetic or terrified. “Not much of an army,” Kamael murmured to themselves.

They couldn’t help but remember what Iblis had told them, just after the storm at the beginning of the world. _It was supposed to be you._ What would it have been like, to molder for millennia in this dank place, an injured beast licking their wounds and biding their time?

“Kamael.”

The archangel stopped in their tracks. They knew that voice. They turned to face its owner. “Worm.”

Iblis looked as offensively handsome as always, dressed with the human fashion in tight leather breeches, a frilled black shirt and a rich purple cravat. But instead of his usual swagger, he stood stiff and tense. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he hissed.

“Assessing your resources,” Kamael answered, lifting one eyebrow. “It would be foolish to enter a war without some reconnaissance.”

“You’re _spying_? This is literally the most obvious—” Iblis cut himself off with an exasperated growl and grabbed Kamael’s arm. “Come on.”

Later, back in Heaven, they would wonder why they hadn’t shaken him off. In the moment, they only noticed that his hand was as warm as ever, despite the chilly atmosphere of Hell, and that he was holding their arm exactly as he had done so many years ago in the Cairo marketplace. But this time he lead instead of followed, marching Kamael through one passage after another with quick certainty.

 _Of course he doesn’t_ _need_ _his cane here_ , Kamael thought. _He knows Hell so well._

Iblis yanked them into a room, slammed the door shut, and released their arm. They felt goosebumps rise as cold air filled the empty places where his fingers had been.

“You’re unbelievable,” he snarled, pacing across the floor. “Waltzing through Hell as though it were a garden. What if I hadn’t been here? I just got back a few days ago. What if—”

“Yes, where _have_ you been?” Kamael interrupted. “You missed our last meeting. I couldn’t find you.”

He made an impatient, indeterminate gesture with one hand. “I was spreading terror in the New World. Tell you about it later. Kamael, what were you _thinking_? You know who’s down here. You know how he feels about you.”

Kamael cocked their head. They hadn’t really considered the possibility of seeing Lucifer on this trip. “How he . . . feels?”

“Or maybe you don’t.” Iblis leaned against his desk and ran a hand through his hair. “No, I suppose not. You have no idea what he wants to do to you. What he’s going to do to you.”

Kamael narrowed their eyes. They didn’t appreciate being talked down to. “Oh, and you do?”

Iblis gripped the edge of the desk, turning his face directly toward Kamael. His cloudy eyes looked haunted, and tight lines framed his mouth. “I have listened to him describe it in _excruciating detail_.”

Kamael wasn’t afraid of Lucifer, not as they remembered him from the first war, and not from any of the stories humans told. But what monster now lived in the Pit who could make a demon as arrogant as Iblis show such naked fear? Kamael felt a little flicker of it jump into their own heart.

The simplest way to handle it was to mock Iblis. “Are you actually worried about me, worm?”

He snorted. “Like you weren’t worried about me? ‘Haven’t seen Iblis for a hundred years, better pop down to Hell and make sure he’s all right’?”

“That is _not_ why I came.” Kamael stepped closer, glowering up at him.

“Oh? Is this what you came for, then?” Iblis reached out and took their head in his hands. Kamael had just a moment to absorb the sensation of long fingers cradling their skull and broad thumbs resting on their cheeks before he kissed them.

His lips were even warmer than his hands. When he pressed them against Kamael’s mouth, the contact reverberated through their whole being, making echoes in that deep well they had kept covered so carefully and for so long.

They hadn’t quite adjusted to the feeling of his lips when his tongue got involved, coaxing their mouth open. Kamael raised their hands with the intention of breaking Iblis’ grip on their head, but instead their fingers curled around his wrists, clinging tightly. He sucked on their upper lip, nibbled their lower, and stroked their tongue with his own. He was giving them all the heat that Hell had leached away, and they could feel their edges begin to soften and melt.

Without quite understanding why they did it, Kamael pushed toward Iblis, licking his lips in return and lining up their bodies. They’d very nearly put their arms around him when they felt something that made them break away. “What is that?” they demanded.

Iblis laughed. “If you’re pointing at something, I can’t see. You’ll have to touch it.”

“Fuck right off, you know what I’m talking about.”

He reached his own hand down between his legs, shamelessly cupping the bulge there and giving it a squeeze. “You mean this? It’s an erection, sunshine.”

Kamael may not have been so close to one before, but they did in fact recognize it. What they really wanted to know was—“Why do you have it?”

“Because I like kissing you. And . . .”

“And?” they prompted.

“And because you’re here. In my office, where I have fantasized about fucking you in every possible way, and some impossible ones.”

Kamael’s body reacted unexpectedly to the sound of the word _fucking_ from Iblis’ mouth. He’d said it before and they hadn’t felt like this, hungry and aching and ready. It must be something about Hell, they decided, and it was a risk they’d known they were taking by coming here.

“All right,” they said. “Let’s do it.”

For the first time Kamael could remember, Iblis was struck dumb. They waited, enjoying how his mouth opened and closed, until he finally croaked, “Are you shitting me?”

“No. I came to Hell, I knew there’d be a price to pay.”

Iblis rubbed a hand over his face, looking distraught but no less aroused. “There isn’t—that’s not—”

Kamael lifted one eyebrow. “Are you saying you don’t want to anymore?”

“Fuck, no. I want to. I do.” He stepped forward, reaching for them, but Kamael stepped back.

Iblis was too good at throwing them off balance. If they were going to do this, it had to be quick and clean, and they had to be the one in charge. Gazing around the room, they settled on the large, sturdy chair behind the desk. “Go sit down. And don’t touch me unless I tell you to.”

“Don't _touch_ you? Kamael, do you even know how—”

“Also, shut up.”

Iblis sighed, but moved to the chair. He draped one arm over the back and rested his other hand on his thigh, thumb stroking the prominent rise in his breeches. “Want me to get this out?”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” said Kamael, as they stepped out of their own loose trousers. “And, um. Yes.”

He did it, grinning, obviously putting on a show. Kamael marched over and shoved his hands out of the way. Sure, they’d never tried this before, but how complicated could it be? Humans fucked all the time. They climbed into the chair and sat down on Iblis without preamble.

“Shit! Kamael!” he gasped. His hands clenched the arms of the chair. “Give me some fucking warning next time, would you?”

“There won't be a next time,” they growled, lifting their hips and slamming back down. Iblis whimpered, fingers scrabbling on the chair. “I am doing this _once_ , so you stop panting after me.”

Kamael pumped their hips again. It felt strange, hot and slippery. They braced their hands on the demon’s shoulders and tried a few different approaches, some better than others, all awkward and sloppy. They paused to consider how long this would take, and how they were supposed to know when it was over.

“Please don’t stop,” whispered Iblis.

Kamael shifted position again, finding a new angle. It wasn’t bad. It was maybe even better than not bad. Iblis reached between them, fingers brushing Kamael’s belly, and they slapped his hand away. “Don’t touch me.”

“But I can—”

“I said don’t.”

Kamael began to move with more purpose. There was some feeling here, something elusive, if they could just catch up with it, something that sent sparks down their spine—

Iblis let out a long, helpless moan, his face contorted into an expression they’d never seen. Observing it curiously, Kamael sped up their movements.

“Stop, stop!” he cried.

“What the fuck is this, ‘don’t stop’ now ‘stop’?” Kamael slid off Iblis, off the chair. They took in his heaving chest and trembling hands, the sweat on his forehead and the red marks where he’d bitten his lips. He looked like a wreck. “Did I win?”

Iblis laughed weakly. “Well, I certainly don’t feel like I lost.”

“Hmph.” Kamael moved away and began to get dressed.

Iblis fumbled with closing his breeches and got shakily to his feet. “Wait, Kamael. Don’t you want—”

“I want to leave, worm,” they said curtly. “And I don’t want to come back down here again. I expect you on Earth for our next meeting.”

Iblis started to say something, then stopped. He sank back into his chair with a sigh. “I’m actually not a worm, you know. I’m a caecilian.”

Kamael considered this as they pulled their boots on. “Nope,” they decided. “Don’t care. Good-bye, worm.”

They left almost fast enough to miss Iblis’ quiet, “Good-bye, sunshine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Zoological Club: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zoological_Society_of_London
> 
> the Minhocão: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Minhoc%C3%A3o_(legendary_creature)
> 
> William Cowper's ode to Boudica: https://www.bartleby.com/41/320.html
> 
> Many many thanks to Euny_Sloane for bringing caecilians to a brainstorming session, to summerofspock for suggesting the color of Iblis' eyes based off that, and to aretia for proposing an appearance of Hastur's trademark shrieking.
> 
> I'm so so so grateful for each and every comment and kudos. (Did I just look up "kudos" to make sure it can be singular as well as plural? Yeah, I did that.)


	9. Arrivals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who gets their shit together in this chapter! Hint: it's not Iblis and Kamael
> 
> There's more sex, and it's just as ill-advised as last time.

Of course there was a next time.

Iblis had known there would be, from the moment he’d kissed Kamael and they’d melted against him. What he hadn’t known was that he’d never feel them melt again.

The two executives continued to meet every few decades, and meeting lead inevitably to fucking. But Kamael never let Iblis kiss them again. Never let him touch them. Every time his hands wandered, they’d get slapped down. Every time he tried to ask about it, he’d be ignored or talked over.

He tried to make the sex as good for them as he could, but his options were limited. If Kamael ever got off, they were damn quiet about it. Iblis didn’t think they did. He wasn’t even sure they knew that they could.

A decent person probably would have refused to keep having sex under these conditions, but Iblis had never pretended to be a decent person.

However, he did have his pride. He _knew_ he could make Kamael lose their mind with pleasure, if they’d only let him. He was musing over this challenge one evening in the 1970s, as he sat in the front row of the conference room listening with half an ear to Crowley’s presentation on some new motorway around London.

“Thanks to three computer hacks, selective bribery, and mumble mumble...”

“What was that, Crowley?” Dagon interrupted.

Crowley cleared his throat. “What?”

Iblis heard the Lord of the Files heft the enormous tape recorder on her lap, heard the rustle of scales as she petted it. “We didn’t catch that last part,” she clarified. “Say it again for Guppy?”

“I said that I, uh, moved a few markers across the field one night.” Crowley sounded uncomfortable. “Sometimes you’ve got to get on site to do the work, you know?”

Iblis nodded along—he thought of himself as a supportive manager—and then it hit him. That was exactly what he needed to do with Kamael. He had to go on site, straight to Heaven. It was the only way to catch them off guard. He’d leave right away, as soon as Crowley was done. Or maybe he should change clothes first. Dress up a bit. This could be an occasion for that new cashmere scarf...

Iblis brought his attention back to the presentation just as Crowley exclaimed, “Can I hear a wahoo?”

“Wahoo!” Iblis shouted, pumping his fist in the air for good measure. Whatever Crowley had accomplished, it surely deserved celebration.

As a few other half-hearted cheers rang around the room, Iblis stood up. “Great work, Crowley, really top-notch. I’m sure you’ll be receiving a commendation.”

“I wasn’t quite finished--”

“That’s all right!” Iblis gave him a jovial punch to the shoulder. He didn’t have to worry about his aim. Crowley had developed the skill of placing his shoulder right where Iblis expected it to be, after that one incident with the bloody nose. “Keep going without me. You’ve got a sharp audience, and I’ll hear the rest from Guppy when I get back.”

“Where are you going? Er, my lord?” Crowley quickly tacked on the honorific.

“Upstairs,” said Iblis. “I’ve got a meeting.”

He strode through the halls, snapping his fingers to summon his cane and scarf. He’d decided not to change his entire ensemble after all; he’d lose momentum. No time like the present! He smiled at the thought that he might have Kamael pliant in his arms again, within the hour.

The escalators between Heaven and Hell were a recent installation. Iblis rode them all the way to the top, marveling at their workmanship and never once letting himself think about the underlying reason he wanted Kamael to open up and trust him: so he could protect them when the end times came.

There was going to be a war, and Hell was going to win it. Iblis was certain of that. Kamael might think differently, but they hadn’t seen the armory and the training rooms, the kennels and the brimstone laboratories. Heaven’s forces would be incinerated, and Iblis couldn’t save Kamael from destruction if he couldn’t _fucking touch them_.

Stepping off the escalator in Heaven, Iblis wished he’d grabbed a pair of Crowley’s sunglasses. He was used to picking up impressions of light and shadow, but here there was only light.

Iblis tapped his cane on the landing, and the taps echoed back from a caverous space. Beyond those echoes, silence. No mutters or mumbles, no distant screams (or nearby ones either), and no drips or pops or crackles. Had Heaven always felt so hollow? He couldn’t remember.

The worst was that it had no smell. Iblis knew that as an angel his sense of smell had been far inferior, but it was still shocking to return to Heaven and realize it smelled of _nothing_. Not good rich loam and not wet fetid mud, not sulfur or sweat or tears or blood. Not even any of the human food or drink that Kamael enjoyed from Earth. Surely it must bother them, too.

Iblis was about to go looking for them when he heard the steps of an approaching angel, far away but growing closer. He stilled his cane, and waited.

At least the angel brought a slight scent, an acrid holy tang. Nothing near as sweet and spicy as his own favorite angel. “Greetings, Lord Iblis. Prince Kamael has requested that I escort you to their office.”

Iblis raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware they were expecting me.”

“I don’t know about that. I’m just here to show you the way.”

It was irritating to have lost the advantage of surprise, and even more so not to know how it happened. But Iblis wouldn’t find out just standing here. “Lead on, then.”

The angel hesitated. Iblis felt them shift from foot to foot. “Do you, er--”

“I can follow you just fine,” he assured them. “I might need to whack you with my cane if you’re too quiet, that’s all.”

“I would prefer you not to.” They sounded nervous and offended at the same time.

Iblis gave a toothy grin. “Then you’d better keep talking so I can hear you.”

The angel’s feet tapped the floor as they turned and began to walk. Iblis set off after them, still grinning. He could have followed the sound of their steps alone, but it was far more amusing to listen to them chatter. “We’re starting to get all the uniforms out of storage, that’s what I’ve been told, and they’re running a full weapons inventory, and Metatron help you if you haven’t kept up your training regimen...”

“Zakariel,” interrupted a cool voice. “I didn’t tell you to talk to the demon.”

Iblis could swear he _heard_ the other angel squirm. “No, my prince. But he said he needed to hear me to follow me, and...”

“Trusting demons, now?” Kamael’s tone was brittle. “I think you’d better go ask Michael how to cure yourself of that habit, or you won’t be much good to us on the battlefield.”

“Yes, my prince.” The angel hurried away.

“Worm,” Kamael greeted Iblis, as usual. “I won’t say welcome.”

“How’d you know I was here?” he inquired.

“Security cameras.” Kamael grasped his hand with their smooth cold fingers, drawing him into a more enclosed space. Their office, he presumed. “Did you really think you could walk into Heaven without me knowing about it? After all this time, your idiocy still manages to astound me.”

A door clicked shut behind them. The room still felt too empty and open, but at least it smelled like Kamael.

“Can I kiss you,” Iblis said quickly, clinging to their hand. His plan had depended on surprising them, but he’d forge ahead as best he could.

Kamael stiffened. “We are in _Heaven_. We are _not_ going to--”

“Just kiss. Please.” Iblis lifted their hand to his face and brushed his lips over their knuckles. “Please, let me kiss you now and I’ll never ask for anything else, I swear.” He touched his lying tongue to the pulsepoint of their wrist. “Please, Kamael. Please.”

“Ugh, don’t beg. It’s gross.”

But Iblis heard a catch in their voice, and he knew _g_ _ross_ was not the word they really meant. “Please,” he breathed against their skin, his nostrils flaring at the faint scent of angelic arousal.

“Fine,” Kamael growled. “Fine. Just kiss.”

Iblis released their hand and dropped to his knees in front of them, circling their waist with his long fingers.

“What the Hell, you said _kiss_ \--”

Then he kissed them. He pressed his open mouth to the junction of their thighs, his breath hot and damp against the fabric of their slacks. A shudder passed through their body. Iblis could smell their hunger. He flicked out his tongue to taste it.

“What are you doing, worm?” Kamael’s hands landed on his head, poised to either push or pull. They couldn’t seem to decide which.

“I’m kissing you,” he whispered, moving carefully to unfasten their slacks and slide them down the silky skin of their thighs. He kissed Kamael through their underwear until they moaned, and then he slipped that out of the way too.

Kamael’s fingers tightened in his hair. Their hips pushed against his face. The sounds they made were more wild and wanton than anything he’d heard from them before, and although he’d meant to take it slow, he found he could only drive them fast and hard toward the edge of pleasure that he suspected they’d never found for themselves. He hurled them over it.

They rode his tongue through their climax, their cries slowly softening to shaky breaths. Then they tugged his head backward, and he let them do it.

Before Kamael could say anything, he asked, “Another?”

They touched his face, smeared with their own slick. Their voice cracked when they asked, “Can I?”

Iblis almost laughed, but the urge was born of joy, not humor. “Sure you can,” he murmured, bringing two fingers between their thighs. “Let me show you.”

This time he dragged it on and on, teasing them with fingers and lips until Kamael was the one reduced to begging. When he finally gave it to them, they shouted their release, fingernails cutting into his shoulders. He barely felt it.

“Again?” he asked, and Kamael panted, “Fuck yes.”

Now Iblis lingered even more. He trailed kisses over their thighs and hips. He pressed his forehead to their belly and just breathed for a while, lost in their scent.

“You look like you’re at worship,” Kamael commented, voice wavering.

He smiled. “Maybe I am.”

“On your knees for an angel.” They clicked their tongue. “What would your master say?”

Iblis’ grip on them tightened, old fears clawing at his gut. He tilted his head back. “Do you really want to talk about him right now?”

“No, of course not.” Kamael wound their hands into his scarf, reeling him in. “Get on with it.”

The angel’s third orgasm was almost silent. They met it with a gasp, trembling against Iblis, and he relaxed his hold so that when their legs buckled, they fell into his lap. Warm and soft, almost boneless, they lay against him with their small head tucked under his chin. He held them close.

For a few glorious moments, he believed it could last. Then Kamael pulled in a breath and straightened their spine, and Iblis felt the freeze set in.

He may have said something, or nothing. He couldn’t remember afterward, because it made no difference. Kamael slid out of his embrace and stood on feet as steady as they had ever been.

“Zakariel,” they called, without so much as a tremor in their voice. “Lord Iblis is ready to leave. See him out, please.”

Somehow Iblis staggered upright, twice as wrecked as he’d imagined Kamael to be, fumbling with his cane, which he’d forgotten on the floor while he was kissing the angel. He turned toward the sound of an opening door, but it wasn’t Zakariel’s voice he heard.

“Zakariel is busy,” said Michael. “I’ll walk Iblis out.”

Iblis hadn’t seen or heard her since his Fall. He couldn’t keep the shock from his face, not when he was already reeling from Kamael’s casual dismissal. Michael’s voice held a steel core that he remembered well, and a shadow of grief that he didn’t. And more than a hint of rage.

Well, Iblis had plenty of rage himself. “Don’t go to any fucking trouble,” he snarled. “I’ll see myself out.”

Somewhat to his surprise, the two archangels let him go without a word. He imagined their eyes meeting behind his back, communicating volumes, and he was glad he couldn’t see it. He pushed past Michael and out the door, swinging his cane from side to side. As if there were any possibility of an obstacle in this sterile non-place.

It was a short walk to the escalator, guided by memory and sound.

It was a long ride to Hell, filled with burgeoning revenge fantasies.

By the time Iblis reached the bottom, he’d decided to bump up the delivery date on Armageddon. He was perfectly prepared to see the world go up in smoke.

He ripped off his scarf, which smelled like Kamael, and threw it to the ground. It burst into flames. He concentrated for a moment to make sure he had the right equipment, since it wasn’t what he usually wore. Then he headed down, by stair and by ladder and in places by sheer willpower, until he found Lucifer presiding over torments in the very depths of Hell.

Iblis strolled right up to him. “Hey there, big guy. Want to make a baby?”

* * *

“So you delivered the Antichrist.” Aziraphale poured two glasses of wine, surprised by how steady his hands were. He’d invited Crowley to the bookshop as soon as he’d received the demon’s panicked phone call.

“Yep.” Crowley’s fingers drummed on the back of the sofa as he perched on its arm. “Twice now.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, not a lot of midwives in Hell, you know? And Iblis trusts me.” Crowley shrugged. “So I helped with that part. Delivery number one. Then I swaddled it up, popped it in a basket, headed ‘round the convent and handed it over. Delivery number two.”

“I see.” Aziraphale handed Crowley a glass, then sat with his own on the empty side of the sofa. He frowned. “You know, for a century or two I thought that Iblis and Kamael might postpone the end times indefinitely. They seemed to be, hmm, what’s the phrase? Hitting it off.”

“Hitting each other, you mean,” said Crowley. “With fists and swords and maybe cream pie if that’s all they could reach.”

Aziraphale gazed into the middle distance, his train of thought abruptly hitched to a dining car. “I love cream pie.”

Crowley slid his foot across the couch and poked Aziraphale’s thigh. “Won’t be any more of it.”

“I suppose there won’t.” The angel heaved a deep sigh. “Do you think we could convince them to have a Cold War instead? That’s very popular these days.”

Crowley snorted. “Angel, what do you think the last six thousand years have been? No, no, they’re set on a proper hot war. Boiling seas and fire from the skies and all that shit.”

They drank for a while in depressed silence. Crowley migrated from the arm of the couch to the seat next to Aziraphale, one arm slung over the back and one leg folded up on the cushion. When the last of the bottle was emptied into their glasses, he said mournfully, “’s not just cream pies going up in flames, Aziraphale. It’s meat pies, too. And classical music, and hallucinogens, and this brilliant new band called Queen.” He swirled his glass. “All the pleasures of the Earth.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help the quick breath he sucked in, or the way his eyes darted toward Crowley. The demon grimaced. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to _proposition_ you again, just because the end of the world is nigh.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale carefully set down his glass. “Then I suppose I’ll have to do it.”

If Crowley had been human, Aziraphale was quite sure he would have choked on the wine that he inhaled. As it was, he had to convince his trachea to take a quick detour to his stomach.

Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s glass. “May I?” When the demon gave him a bewildered nod, Aziraphale set the glass aside, then took Crowley’s hands in his own. He’d wanted to find the perfect time for this. At the very least, he'd wanted to wait until Crowley got rid of that dreadful mustache.

But there was no time left. Aziraphale held the hands that were dearest to him in all the world, and gazed into the dearest face. “I love you, Crowley.”

The demon’s eyes widened, shining like round gold coins. “You what?”

“Oh, my dear, I’ve loved you for a desperately long time. It never seemed right to speak of it. I never thought you would _want_ me to speak of it. It wasn’t until quite recently—less than two hundred years ago!—that I realized you loved me back.”

“I do?” croaked Crowley.

Aziraphale smiled at the memory of Crowley’s heroic appearance in the Bastille to whisk him away from the guillotine, and all the gifts and gestures, large and small, that he'd seen in a new light since then. “Yes, my dear. You do.”

“Oh.” Crowley clung to the angel with the grip of a constrictor. “So that’s what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” said Aziraphale patiently. “When you wanted to stay that night, it’s not that I wasn’t interested. Quite the contrary! I simply didn’t—I _don’t_ —wish to engage in unwed carnal relations.”

Crowley produced a garbled sound that Aziraphale took to indicate surprise, and it made him rather peevish. “Is that so shocking? I am an angel, after all!”

“Yeah, but, yeah, I mean,” started Crowley. Then he tried again. “Can angels get married?”

“I don’t see why not.” Aziraphale looked down at their linked hands, then shyly back up. “To be honest, my dear, it isn’t even a moral question for me. I—well, I suppose you’ve noticed that I can be rather possessive.”

Crowley had come back to himself enough to cast a sardonic eye at the shelves full of books that Aziraphale had collected, treasured, _hoarded_. “Got that, angel. But what’s it have to do—”

“If I’m going to have you, then I’ll have you forever, or not at all.”

“Angel, you can have me as long as you like,” Crowley managed to get out, and then he was clambering towards Aziraphale, folding around him like a pretzel, and he had finally released Aziraphale’s hands so the angel could cup that gorgeous face and kiss it, and kiss it and kiss it as he had longed to do for God knew how long. (She knew, She knew _exactly_.)

For eleven minutes and twenty-three seconds, Aziraphale completely forgot the reason why he’d confessed his love and proposed to Crowley in the back room of his bookshop, without a single flower or romantic vista or even a ring. He held Crowley and kissed him, and everything was perfect. Even the mustache was perfect. It tickled Aziraphale's upper lip delightfully, so that he began to consider lifting his personal injunction against carnal relations with mustachioed men.

It was Crowley who surfaced first to the bleak reality of the situation. “We don’t have forever, angel.” He sat back with his arms still looped around Aziraphale’s neck and tried to make a joke of it. “Suppose we put something in the vows, ‘Till Armageddon do us part.’”

Aziraphale shook his head fiercely. “ _What therefore God hath joined together, let no_ _t_ _man put asunder_. And no occult nor ethereal being, either. And certainly no bloody Armageddon.”

Crowley looked startled, then pleased, then thoughtful. “Perhaps we could do something about that. The Antichrist _has_ been born. But it’s the upbringing that’s important, the influences. What if you provided good influences, to balance my evil ones?”

Aziraphale tucked a lock of hair behind Crowley’s ear and chuckled. “We’ve only just decided to get married, and you’re already suggesting we raise a child together?”

“You know me, angel,” said Crowley, wriggling a little closer. “I like to go fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guppy was named by the brilliant ineffablegame!
> 
> Also the chapter count has been bumped up, surprising probably no one.


	10. Apocalypse Then

“It’s sushi.” Aziraphale smiled encouragingly. “It’s nice.”

Kamael, who still remembered the flamingo tongues, gave Aziraphale a dubious look as they placed a conglomeration of rice and seaweed and eel in their mouth. “Oh!” They chewed and swallowed. “That _is_ nice.”

Aziraphale shimmied with pleasure and pushed a little plate of dark liquid closer to them. “Try it with the shoyu. And the ginger.”

Kamael assembled their next bite accordingly. It was even better. “So, how’s the Antichrist?”

“She’s a dear little thing,” said Aziraphale. “Only two years old, and I believe my good influence is already showing. Why, last week her nanny told me that she found a worm on the sidewalk, picked it up, and moved it into the grass!”

“Should’ve stepped on it. That’s what worms are for,” muttered Kamael. They sipped their sake and gazed meditatively at Aziraphale, who was pretending he hadn’t heard them. “You know, Michael asked why I’m even letting you try to reform the Antichrist.”

“Ah. What did you tell her?” Aziraphale fiddled with his chopsticks.

Kamael shrugged. “It’s your nature, isn’t it? You’ve been thwarting evil on Earth since the beginning. It’s like how Crowley couldn’t help tempting our guy back in the desert, even though it was never going to work. More sake.”

Aziraphale poured. The archangel drank, then continued. “So why should we stop you? Go ahead and inspire the child as much as you like.” Kamael thought it was really rather sweet. They hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed when it didn’t work. “Just don’t forget to report back to me. They’re going to send her some kind of animal from Below to kick off the end times. I want to know about that immediately.”

Aziraphale sat up straighter, looking startled. “How did you find out about the Hellcat?”

“A cat, is it?” Kamael nodded. “That would be fitting. You’re certain?”

“Er, yes. That’s what Crowley said.” The principality sounded embarrassed, which puzzled Kamael. Why wouldn’t he be proud of extracting information from an enemy agent?

Oh. Maybe he’d used methods he thought Kamael wouldn’t approve of. “Did you fuck it out of him?”

Aziraphale dropped a piece of sushi in his lap. “Excuse me?”

“It’s all right,” Kamael assured him. “That’s how I’ve gotten the best stuff from Iblis.”

They didn’t tell Aziraphale that their first time in Hell hadn’t been nearly so calculated. It had been an act of desperation, meant to quench the strange wild hunger that had sprung up inside them. It hadn’t worked for that. But over time it had proved extremely effective for other purposes.

“He’ll tell me anything when he’s waiting to fuck, or after we’ve done it. He talks and talks, like he’s forgotten we’re on opposite sides. I know how many demons of each rank will march against us. I know their weapon inventory, their formations and manuevers, the beasts they will ride and drive before them. I know the designs of their infernal war machines, and I’ve had my ethereal engineers analyze them for weak points.” Kamael leaned across the table, their elbow nearly landing in the shoyu before Aziraphale whisked it out of the way. “Iblis gave me _everything_ , and he didn’t even realize he was doing it.”

Aziraphale blinked at them, wide-eyed. “Oh my, how—how marvelous. It’s quite, er, quite the same with Crowley, he’s happy to talk after we’ve made l—fucked.”

He stirred more wasabi into the shoyu and Kamael dipped their next piece of sushi in it, enjoying the extra sting of horseradish. Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Do you, ah. Do you ever feel a bit sorry that it’s all ending so soon?” He made an ambiguous gesture that could have referred to the demon-fucking, the sushi-eating, or both.

“I’m only sorry it didn’t end sooner,” said Kamael shortly.

Even before Iblis had come to Heaven, they hadn’t liked how often they thought about him between meetings, how eagerly their traitorous body anticipated each liaison. They knew he was trying to lead them astray, just as he’d done to countless humans.

And then, after he’d fallen to his knees and brought them to dizzying heights of pleasure, Kamael had nearly given in. They’d allowed Iblis to hold them as Lucifer had once done, blurring their boundaries, softening their edges. They had been furious when they’d realized, but tamped down the fury to speak calmly.

That was how perfectly in control Kamael was, that someone like Iblis could try something like _that_ in their own office and they wouldn’t even smite him. No, they were saving it all up for Armageddon. Their next meeting with Iblis would be on the battlefield, where they’d destroy him once and for all.

Michael had been annoyed, to say the least, by the lack of smiting. Kamael had to distract her with some details about Hell’s war efforts that they implied they’d only just squeezed out of Iblis.

They hated him even more for that. Kamael _never_ lied. What had he done to them, that they’d seen misdirecting Michael as the only course of action?

“It’s just a few more years,” they said, as much to themselves as to Aziraphale. “Then we can wipe out the demons for good.”

Aziraphale lifted his head and looked Kamael in the eye. “I still love Crowley, you know.”

Kamael reached out their small hand to cover his. Poor principality. He was so soft, and so dear. Maybe they could set him up with a ranged weapon, so he wouldn’t have to face hand-to-hand combat. “It’s okay. I can take care of Crowley when the time comes. And then you’ll feel better, you’ll see. You can stop pretending to be human, and come home to Heaven.”

“Home. Heaven. Yes.” Aziraphale looked down at their overlapping hands on the table.

Kamael didn’t like to see him so distraught. Casting about for a change of subject, their eyes landed on a silver serpent wrapped snugly around one of Aziraphale’s fingers. They tapped it with one of their own. “Is this a new ring? It doesn’t seem like your usual style.”

“Oh, yes,” he said with a shy smile. “When the Dowlings hired me, I, er, I told them I was married. It—it makes me seem more respectable to humans.”

“Clever. Did you find a spouse to play the part, too?”

“Yes, in fact.” He bit his lip, quite obviously blushing now. “Crowley.”

Kamael laughed so hard they fell out of their chair.

* * *

“No cat.”

“No cat.”

“Wrong girl.”

“Wrong girl.”

In the eleven years he’d worked as a nanny for Lilith Dowling, Crowley had amassed countless examples of deviant, wicked behavior that marked her as the spawn of Satan. Now he had to accept that ordinary human children were perfectly capable of finding the permanent markers no matter where he hid them, and coming down with the stomach flu _only_ at two o’clock in the morning.

Crowley would have been impressed, except that he was busy agonizing over the misplaced Antichrist as he drove from Lilith’s birthday party to the bookshop.

“You lost the child,” Aziraphale pointed out, rather unnecessarily, Crowley thought.

“ _We_ lost the child,” he corrected. “ _If you’re going to drive that slowly then get on the bloody sidewalk, mate!”_

Aziraphale spread his hands in a pacifying gesture. “A child has been lost. And you lied to Iblis about it.”

“Did I?”

“Yes, over the radio just now. You said, _Look_ _, there’s the cat, how vicious_ _ly it’_ _s clawing_ _a_ _guest’_ _s_ _eyes out._ Not exactly true.”

Crowley shrugged. He’d been lying to Iblis since the beginning. As far as he could tell, Iblis expected it. “Not a big deal, angel. But I _am_ going to be in a shitload of trouble if I can’t find the real Antichrist.”

“We’ll find her,” said Aziraphale, in the same resolute tone that he’d used when he and Crowley exchanged their vows ten years ago. Crowley felt just as irrationally comforted as he had back then.

He parked in his old familiar illegal spot and turned to look at Aziraphale. The angel hadn’t even taken off his ridiculous stage makeup, or cleaned the smear of cake from his cheek and forehead.

“What is it?” asked Aziraphale.

“You’re a mess.” Crowley reached across the seat and swiped his finger through the frosting, bringing it to Aziraphale’s lips. His heart still skipped at the realization that he could touch now, that he had permission.

Aziraphale licked the frosting, his eyes fluttering shut. “Oh, it’s scrummy. Lilith can be a bit headstrong, but I’m glad she insisted on the buttercream instead of the fondant.”

“You’re the one who taught her to be such a spoiled brat about food,” said Crowley. He took another fingerful of frosting from Aziraphale’s cheek. “ _Nanny I can’t eat it cold, you must warm it up. Nanny, Cook says the sauce_ _should_ _be served on the side. But Nanny, Cook always lets me have one extra biscuit._ Made my life a living Hell, you did.”

Aziraphale laughed softly and leaned forward to take the frosting. This time he sucked Crowley’s finger into his mouth, his warm lips and tongue nearly melting Crowley’s brain. He pulled off with a pop. “Poor dear. Come inside and I’ll make it up to you.”

Several hours passed in near forgetfulness of the crisis at hand. It was getting dark when Aziraphale finally attempted to climb out of bed. Crowley whined, wrapping all his long limbs around Aziraphale’s torso. The angel simply got to his feet and headed for the kitchen with a demon clinging to him.

“That’s hot,” Crowley whispered into the side of his neck, licking the most recent love-bite he’d left there. “Could you walk around like this all night?”

“It’s rather inconvenient,” said Aziraphale as he put on the kettle. “I’m hoping you’ll remember how legs work soon.”

Crowley sighed and peeled himself off the angel. Aziraphale put on some tartan shorts, poured the tea, and unfolded a newspaper. Crowley stared. “Since when do you read the paper?”

Aziraphale sniffed. “I value the written word in all its forms.”

“That’s utter shite, you just said last week—”

“All _right_. I’m looking for the Antichrist.” He took a sip of tea. “Wherever she is, she’ll be coming into her powers, won’t she? There ought to be some sign of it in the news.”

“That’s—that’s actually a really good idea.”

“Thank you, I thought so. Would you be a dear and fetch some more papers?” Aziraphale set his newsprint on a table and brought out a pair of scissors, a notepad, and several pens. “As many as you can find.”

“Sure, no problem.” Crowley sauntered toward the door.

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Do put some clothes on first, my dear.”

Crowley pouted, one hand on the doorknob. “You’re no fun.”

“On the contrary, I simply wish to keep all the fun for myself.”

“Possessive bastard.”

“I did warn you.”

Grumbling fondly, Crowley got dressed and ventured out to scour the streets of London for newspapers, magazines, and periodicals. When he returned to the bookshop, he dropped his haul on the table, warmed up Aziraphale’s cocoa, and slept for a while. Then he did it all over again.

It took Aziraphale forty-eight hours of reading, snipping, and cross-referencing to identify the Antichrist as one Eve Young, residence 4 Hogback Lane, Lower Tadfield.

“There’s a small problem with getting to Tadfield,” admitted Crowley, spinning his car keys around one finger as Aziraphale locked up the shop. He’d spent some of his nap time in front of the TV, unconsciously absorbing the news. “They’re saying the M25 is on fire.”

“What, the whole motorway?” Aziraphale looked offended that a thoroughfare would have the audacity to interfere with his plans. “Oh, you set this up, didn’t you, Crowley? Back when you were sporting that appalling mustache.”

“You loved that mustache,” said Crowley with a creditable leer. “Maybe I’ll grow it again.”

“I’ll let the world end first, you see if I don’t.”

Crowley made a rude noise and walked around to the driver’s side. As he opened the door, a car pulled up behind the Bentley. It was damp and decrepit, shedding rust and sparks, and looked like it had been driven directly out of Hell. Although its windscreen was almost opaque with grime, Crowley could make out a couple of familiar faces.

He usually got along with Hastur and Ligur. But he didn’t expect they were paying a social call.

“Angel,” he said tightly. “Get in the car.”

Before Aziraphale could buckle his seatbelt, Crowley peeled away from the curb at near supersonic speeds. He was pretty sure that he could lose a couple of Dukes of Hell in London traffic, but he wasn't sure how to tackle the M25.

Fortunately, Aziraphale had that under control. As they approached the impassible ring of fire, Aziraphale said, “Hold on tight, my dear,” and the Bentley rose up into the air. Outside the windows, Crowley saw a blue halo surround his vehicle, blotting out the glow of Hellfire. Even through his sunglasses it made his eyes itch, so he closed them. And kept his foot on the gas.

“Ooh, look at that!” exclaimed Aziraphale after a few minutes. Crowley didn’t look. “I see some children on bikes. Four, no, five of them. It must be Eve and her friends.”

“How d’you know that?”

“Well, because we’re looking for them, dearest,” the angel explained, patiently and nonsensically. “Just follow them, would you? You’re doing so well.”

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” said Crowley, eyes still closed.

“We’re coming down now. Oh, just a little to the left! That’s it. That’s the spot.”

“Christ, angel, could you give directions that don’t sound like bad porn dialogue?”

Aziraphale’s voice rose. “Oh, yes, Crowley. Right there, yes! Keep going, don’t stop!”

“Fucking Heaven,” groaned Crowley, both embarrassed and embarrassingly aroused. After millennia of yearning and a decade of marriage, deliberate innuendo was still a bit much for him to handle. He felt the car land with a jolt and a rattle.

“That was perfect, my dear, I’m so glad we came together,” said Aziraphale sweetly, patting Crowley’s thigh. “You can open your eyes. We’re here.”

Crowley took a deep breath and looked out the window, away from Aziraphale, lest he either kiss the angel or give him a good shake.

They had landed on a wide swath of concrete in some kind of military base. An American flag flew overhead and soliders patrolled in the distance, but Crowley’s attention was drawn immediately to the four—no, five figures emerging from the building in front of them.

They were not human. They were not angels or demons. They were dizzying, swirling vortices of destructive energy. Crowley, immortal demon, original tempter, Serpent of Eden, felt the urge to sit very still until they passed.

The group disappeared around the corner of the building. Aziraphale shook himself out of a stupor similar to Crowley's, and exited the car. “I thought there were only supposed to be four of them?” he murmured, when Crowley joined him.

“Yeah, so did I. Guess times change.” Crowley nodded toward a door that had been left ajar. “Shall we go in and see what they were up to?”

“I would much prefer than to a direct confrontation, yes.”

Inside, it wasn’t hard to see what the Five Horsepeople had started. The room was filled with flashing lights and beeping alarms. Dozens of computer screens announced broken treaties, safety overrides, imminent nuclear catastrophe.

“Can’t you fix it?” asked Aziraphale, plucking at Crowley’s sleeve.

“What d’you want me to do? Yell at the computers? They’re not plants.” Crowley tried anyway. It didn’t work. “Why don’t you do some thwarting?”

“Oh, I don’t think—well, I’ll see what I can do.” Aziraphale settled in carefully in front of a keyboard, cracked his knuckles, and closed his eyes.

The angel’s halo shimmered into the visible spectrum and the ghostly outline of his wings rippled the still air. The hair on the back of Crowley’s neck stood up. Aziraphale was blessing as the demon had never seen him bless before. He blessed the circuits and the fuses, the diplomats and the generals, the bunkers and the bombs themselves. Crowley hadn’t known that Aziraphale _could_ bless that hard, and as the room fairly crackled with divinity he began to suspect it wasn’t all coming from Aziraphale.

He almost thought he heard a Voice say, **“Happy Anniversary.”** But that couldn’t have actually happened.

What definitely did happen was that the lights stopped flashing, the alarms grew quiet, and the computers filled with messages of palpable relief. Aziraphale got slowly to his feet, halo and wings fading back into the ether. Crowley led the way outside.

The five terrible riders were gone. In their place stood five determined children, and at their feet lay a crown, a set of scales, a bow and quiver, and a sword.

Crowley considered the kids. There was a boy in glasses and another who seemed much grubbier than the situation called for. There was a fierce-eyed girl in a red poncho, and a giant of a girl who looked like she’d gone through all of puberty by age ten. But the leader of the group was obviously the one with the cherubic face who held a little tabby cat in one arm.

Crowley gave her a crooked grin. “Hi, Eve.”

Eve smiled back at him, as if they already knew each other, as if they’d always known each other. “You just stopped them from blowing up the world, didn’t you?”

“I guess.” Crowley reached over and took Aziraphale’s hand. “My husband here did the tricky bit.”

“Oh, you,” said Aziraphale, blushing and squeezing his hand. He caught sight of Eve's kitten, leaned over and whispered to Crowley. “Is that the Hellcat?”

“Er, I suppose it must be?” said Crowley, blinking. “When I saw it Below, it was a great big slavering monster. Teeth like spears, eyes of flame, et cetera et cetera.”

Eve scoffed as only an eleven-year-old can scoff. “What would I do with a cat like that? I wanted a tabby kitten that could ride in my bike basket.”

“And a perfectly lovely kitten it is, too.” Aziraphale beamed at her and the other children. “What do you think, shall we all go for ice creams?”

It was the smell that tipped Crowley off, a whiff of brimstone seeping up from a crack in the pavement. Before he could say anything, the crack began to widen, asphalt melting and flowing like lava. A shape began to rise through the gash in the ground, just as a tremendous clap of thunder announced the descent of another, smaller shape from the clouds.

Lord Iblis and Archangel Kamael stood side by side on the airfield.

They did not look happy.

Crowley said, very quietly, “Fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Current events suggest to me that Pestilence did not actually retire, though I didn’t want to dwell on it too much. His canonical symbol is a bow and quiver full of arrows.
> 
> I promise, I didn't cut out Anathema and Newt and Shadwell and Tracy because I don't love them! I love them _immensely_. I just wanted to simplify this AU.
> 
> I can't wait to share the last chapter. Thank you so much for reading!


	11. What Would Suffice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! Getting to share stories with this community is just the bee's knees. Special shoutout to aretia, whose read-aloud of this fic was enormously motivational for me to complete it. XD

Kamael had never been so angry. They vibrated with rage as they stared at the little group of miscreants who’d sabotaged Armageddon, whether through gross incompetence or outright malice Kamael still wasn’t sure.

The Antichrist ought to have been standing alone with her nightmarish Hellcat, preferably atop a mountain, using ancient words of unholy power to call the world to its doom. Instead, she stood on cracked tarmac surrounded by human children, not one of whom was screaming or running away.

Meanwhile, the Horsepeople were nowhere to be seen, and Kamael suspected it wasn’t because they were busy sowing destruction over the earth. Their tools lay scattered across the ground like toys. There were the scales and there was the crown, there was the bow and quiver of arrows and there was the—Kamael frowned. It had been a _very_ long time, but wasn’t that _Aziraphale’s_ sword?

They were glad to see that Aziraphale was here. Kamael had a few choice words for him. He’d been AWOL at muster—probably trying to fix whatever had gone wrong—but still, the last thing Kamael had needed was to make excuses for him to the irate quartermaster.

Worst of all, worse than an amiable Antichrist and a problematic principality, there was Iblis. He stood beside Kamael, as handsome as ever in a tailored black uniform with flame-red epaulettes.

“Worm,” Kamael growled, to make sure he knew they were there. They hated him, _oh_ , how they hated him. He deserved to know that they stood right there, hating him.

He leaned toward them. “Where’s the girl?”

“Straight ahead about ten meters,” Kamael told him. The two walked toward her together, Iblis swinging his cane.

Aziraphale straightened his bow tie as they drew closer. “Kamael, what an honor!”

“Aziraphale, you had _one job_ ,” the archangel said through gritted teeth. “To tell me when the Hellcat arrived and the girl came into her powers. Thank Heaven Sandalphon got a tip from Below, or we wouldn’t have mobilized in time!”

“Forgive me, my prince, if I didn’t recognize _that_ as a Hellcat,” said Aziraphale rather snottily.

Kamael had to look twice to see the little orange tabby in the Antichrist’s arms. It stretched out one tiny paw and mewed. Aziraphale had a point.

Iblis turned toward the mew. “Eve Young?”

“Right here,” she said.

“Well, hi there!” Iblis plastered on a broad smile and tucked his cane into a pocket of his uniform with occult sleight of hand. “Young lady, I’m afraid Armageddon _must_ restart. There may be a little temporary inconvenience, but that cannot get in the way of evil’s ultimate triumph.” He reached out to pet the kitten, who hissed.

Kamael felt like hissing, too. “As to what it stands in the way of, that has yet to be decided. But the battle must be decided now, child. That is your destiny. Now _start the war_.”

“I don’t think so,” said Eve thoughtfully. She linked hands with the big girl who loomed at her side. “You two are kinda like Amy Johnson and me. Same stock, right? Me ‘n Amy were born on the same day in the same place, but we’re different as apples and fish. We fought a lot when we were little, and people called us advertisements—”

“Adversaries,” corrected the girl in red.

Eve acknowledged this with a gracious wave. “But it got to be no fun, always squabbling, _this bit’s mine, that bit’s yours, this kid’s_ _with me_ _,_ _that one’s with you_. So I said we should be friends.”

“That’s right,” said Amy with a slow, wide smile. “I liked that. We had a real nice fight, with lots of mud and sticks, to make it official.”

“It is better, actually, having Amy in our gang,” piped up the boy in glasses. “We get to see her new aquariums before anyone else.”

Eve pointed at Aziraphale and Crowley. “Same with those two. They’ve been down here since the beginning. _They_ know there’s no point always squaring off against each other. ‘S more fun to share.”

Kamael’s gaze traveled from the two girls holding hands to the principality and the serpent . . . who were also holding hands. It hadn’t occurred to them that Aziraphale would take the ‘marriage’ charade this far. They let out an irritated growl. “For God’s sake, Aziraphale, you can drop it now. We’re about to have a war, so it hardly matters if you look respectable to humans.”

“I, well, you see—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take this.” Kamael scooped up the sword and gave it a practiced swing, careful not to ignite it yet. “You can stay out of the melee. I reserved a Thundergun for you.” They snapped their fingers, and a glittering musket appeared in Aziraphale’s arms.

“Goodness,” he gasped, nearly dropping the weapon. “I don’t want this.”

“I think you’d better hang onto it, angel,” said Crowley quietly. He took off his sunglasses and pocketed them.

Kamael felt an unexpected surge of gratitude. At least someone else understood that there would be fighting. But before they could speak, Iblis cocked his head toward the other demon’s voice. “Crowley! You’re here, too?”

“Um, yes. My lord.”

“Hastur and Ligur were supposed to bring you down to Hell for a little chat. Where are they, Crowley?”

“Good question,” answered Crowley. “Yeah, really good one. What’d you want to talk about?”

“Oh, Crowley.” Iblis steepled his hands under his chin. His voice had gone low and menacing. “Crowley, Crowley, Crowley. You lost my baby. You missed the Hellcat. And I get the distinct impression that you’ve entirely fucked up the apocalypse.”

“Oh no, no no no!” exclaimed Crowley. “Credit where it’s due. I may have misplaced a child, but Aziraphale put the brakes on Armageddon. I just brought him newspapers and drove him here.”

“Those were valuable services, my dear. Absolutely integral to the effort.” Aziraphale beamed at him.

Kamael tightened their fist on the hilt of the sword. Aziraphale screwing things up they could handle. Aziraphale deliberately working against Heaven, after all the food and drink they’d shared, after all the allowances they’d made for him? That was intolerable.

 _I still love him_ , Aziraphale had told Kamael. They should have recognized it for the warning it was: _Don’t trust me_. He’d let his feelings blind him to the greater good. He had succumbed to the exact temptation that Kamael had once resisted with every flame and feather of their being. Kamael had turned their back on Lucifer. Aziraphale should have been able to do the same with Crowley.

Iblis sounded every bit as furious as the archangel felt. “Crowley, _w_ _hose side are you on_?”

“I’m—we—we’re on our own side, me and Aziraphale. I love him.”

Kamael would have expected such an obvious lie to be delivered with a grin and a wink. But instead Crowley gazed at Iblis with his yellow eyes wide open, almost as if pleading for him to understand.

“You love him,” echoed Iblis.

“Yes,” said Crowley, his voice growing both more sure and more quiet. “I didn’t recognize it for the longest time. But that’s what it is. That’s what it’s called.”

“See?” said Eve to Kamael and Iblis. “Just ‘cause you’re angels and demons doesn’t mean you can’t get along. If you two won’t share, then I think you ought to go back to your own rooms. No point spoiling it all for the rest of us, just because you won’t kiss and make up.”

Iblis jerked as if stung. “You’re the one who should be sent to your room, young lady. Rebellion has its place, but some things are beyond rebellion!”

“I’m not rebelling against anything,” said Eve. “In fact I think I’m bein’ more of a grown-up than you are. Grown-ups are always telling kids that fightin’ doesn’t solve anything, that we’ve got to work it out with our words. An’ I dunno, sometimes fightin’ is fun.” She grinned at Amy and squeezed her hand. “But not fightin’ so bad it destroys the whole world. Nothing fun about that.”

“This makes no sense,” snapped Kamael. “You can’t run counter to your genes, child. You must _think_.”

“Genes don’t tell you what to do,” the girl in red suddenly spoke up. “They just tell you what color your eyes are, and if you can drink milk without puking. They don’t tell you whether or not to end the world.”

“Even lactose intolerance isn’t completely genetic,” pointed out the boy in glasses. “The environment you’re raised in affects it, too.”

“ _My_ jeans tell me what to do,” commented the other boy, sticking out one leg. “If I put on these ripped ones, I’m s’posed to go down to the creek, and the ones without holes tell me to go to school.”

“Shut up, Brian,” said Amy good-naturedly. She moved a little closer to Eve. “It’s up to you.”

“It _is_ up to me.” Eve looked at her friends, then at Aziraphale and Crowley. She turned back to Kamael and Iblis. “And I say _no_.”

Nothing changed. The world around them was just as it had been since the dawn of Creation. But it was so _aggressively_ unchanged that Kamael knew at once every hope of ending it had gone.

 _S_ _hit_ , they thought, with deep feeling.

Iblis leaned down and spoke to Eve with a mouth full of far too many teeth. “I carried you, I gave birth to you, and this is the thanks I get? You are a disobedient brat, and I’m going to tell your father.”

“And he will _not_ be pleased.” Kamael pointed the tip of their sword at Eve, who gazed back at them, unimpressed. With one last wrathful glare, Kamael offered Iblis their elbow and led him a short distance from the rest of the group.

He pulled a blocky radio out of a pocket that didn’t look large enough to hold it and twisted the dial, muttering, “How I’m supposed to get an army of ten million demons to put down their weapons and go back to work . . . it doesn’t bear thinking about.”

“Try ten million angels,” said Kamael coldly. From their spotless white coat they withdrew a mobile telephone, the very latest technology, a sleek rectangle slightly smaller than their forearm.

For a few minutes Kamael stood side by side with Iblis, explaining everything to Michael and listening to their demonic counterpart perform the same unpleasant task with Dagon. They spun the sword idly through the air as they talked. Thrust and parry, feint and strike.

Finally, Kamael ended the call and put the phone away. Iblis was just signing off the radio with a loud sigh, no doubt for Kamael’s benefit. The archangel frowned. It had been far too easy, falling back into a pattern of antagonistic camaraderie. And what would they do now? Go on working together, so they could plan another Armageddon in a thousand years, or in ten thousand? No. Iblis would keep trying to pry them open, and they couldn’t resist forever.

Kamael lifted the sword over their head. It burst into cold white flame.

Aziraphale looked up immediately, face pinched with worry. “Kamael, what are you doing?”

“What do you care, traitor? I’ve told Michael to disband the army.” They turned to Iblis. “But _I_ don’t intend to stand down.”

The demon lord’s nostrils flared as he took in the scent of the burning blade. “The war—”

“This isn’t about Armageddon. This is personal.” Kamael advanced on him. “Six thousand years you’ve been taunting me, mocking me, plying me with every wile you’ve got. I let it go this long because I knew there would come a time to destroy you. And I’ll be damned if I let that chance go.”

Kamael raised the sword and released every fundamental and harmonic tone of Heaven to ring in their voice. FIGHT, IBLIS. FIGHT, YOU WORM!

A rage bloomed in his expression to mirror Kamael’s. “You know, Lucifer warned me that you were ice right through. I should have listened, but I was too proud—that’s the _only_ time you’ll hear me say that. I’ve tried to warm you up every way I can think of, and now there’s only one way left.”

Iblis folded his hands in a mockery of prayer. When he pulled them apart, they blazed with Hellfire. “Come on, then. Let’s go.”

At last. _At last._ It didn’t matter that Armageddon had been called off, and it didn’t matter that Kamael’s favorite subordinate had turned against them, because Kamael had Iblis all to themselves at last. The slippery worm would not elude them again. Never mind that it was Tadfield and not Megiddo, they would not let him off this battleground. They would cut him down, and cut out this endless yearning from their core.

Kamael lunged forward. Iblis flung up his blazing arm as a shield. White flames met red like a firework blast, an explosion that shook both air and earth. Kamael meant to push harder, to strike again, but the rumbling roar grew louder and louder, and the quaking of the ground intensified, even as Iblis lowered his arm and Kamael drew back their sword.

“Oh, bugger!” shouted Crowley. “Eve, your father’s coming.”

Aziraphale, pale but determined, set his feet on the shaking ground and lifted the Thundergun to his shoulder.

Iblis reached for Kamael with hands that no longer blazed. They let him find their shoulder and squeeze it. “Dagon did it. She told him.”

The earth yawned open, just barely distant enough that none of the group tumbled into the enormous hole, although they all struggled to keep their balance. A monster reared up and up from the chasm until he seemed to block half the sky. His horns were layered with ash and filth, his fleshy wings so tattered Kamael wondered if he could still fly. His face was barely recognizable, carved into a cartography of hatred. So this was what had become of the Light-bringer. His voice billowed out like smoke. “Where is my rebellious daughter?”

Before Eve could step forward, words fell from Kamael’s mouth. “You used to be so beautiful.”

“ _Kamael_?” He spat their name like poison, like nails. “What a pleasure to find you here. I’ll destroy you first of all.”

He moved with shocking speed for his size. A lunge, a reach, and five enormous claws slashed downward. Kamael raised their blade—but Iblis was already in front of them. They felt the wind of the devil’s claws slicing through his body, leaving a bloody wreckage on the ground.

Kamael heard screams from the children, a prayer from Aziraphale and creative swearing from Crowley. They stared down at Iblis’ smoking remains, then looked up at the architect of his destruction.

“What an idiot,” said Kamael and Lucifer at the same time.

Lucifer threw back his head and laughed, but Kamael, for the first time they could remember, wanted to cry. Why, _why_ would Iblis sacrifice himself for them when they had been just about to kill him themselves?

“Excuse me.” Eve was walking toward Lucifer, hands in fists at her sides. “What did you just do to my mother?”

He turned to her. “What?”

“I mean, he’s not my real mum. Obviously. Eleven years and he never sent me a birthday card or anything. But he did give birth to me. And you killed him!”

“Discorporated,” said Lucifer, shifting position with a horrible scraping sound. “I hardly—”

“I’m traumatized!” yelled Eve. “You oughtta be ashamed, doing something like that in front of a bunch of pressable kids!”

“You tell him, Eve,” whispered Crowley.

“I think she means impressionable,” murmured Aziraphale.

“And you’re not my real dad, either! You never showed up before, and you don’t get to show up now. My _real_ parents are going to want me home soon. I think you ought to go home, too.”

Lucifer reared back, angry and confused, clawing at the tarmac. “I don’t—but you—”

Eve stared him down. “Go. Home.”

Kamael, who had once seen Lucifer cast out through the combined might of the entire Host of Heaven, now watched him retreat under the force of an eleven-year-old’s conviction. He hissed and spit and shrank and smoked and finally disappeared. The airfield was smooth again.

“All right,” said Eve, turning back to her friends. “Let’s go get some ice—”

The rumbling of yet another earthquake cut her off. She groaned. “What _now_?”

This time the ground broke up and crumbled like dirt, piling into a mound as if some burrowing creature were about to emerge. What finally did emerge, shaking rocks from its huge flat head, was a creature dripping with water-weeds and slime. Its purple body undulated as it pulled itself from the ground. Tentacles waved on its snout, turning this way and that, and its mouth gaped wide enough to swallow a horse.

It was one nightmare too many for Brian, who fainted.

“Hey, Kamael!” The familiar voice sounded incongruous emerging from that gigantic maw. “I’m finally scarier than you!”

“Shit-eating worm,” snorted Kamael, because if they said _I’m so glad you’re all right,_ then who knew what _else_ they would say? Who knew what else they would _feel_?

The enormous head looped down to hover near them. “Where is Lucifer? Did he hurt—”

“No one besides you.” _No one else was stupid enough._ “Eve sent him back to Hell.”

“Sent him back—” Iblis’ giant coils shook with laughter. “That’s my girl.”

Eve folded her arms and cast a critical eye over the Minhocão. “I think you look wicked,” she decided. “But if you’re going to stick around here, you’d better have your old body back.”

Without any theatrics, the monster was gone, and there was Iblis in his usual form. Kamael stared like they’d never seen it before. Same beautiful body, same confident stance and broad smile. But the smile looked less wicked than they remembered, more warm. Kamael felt an answering warmth rise inside them like a geothermal spring, pushing up, spilling over, bubbling out. Once again they recalled Aziraphale saying, _I love him_. Crowley had used the same words. _I love him_. Kamael kept staring at Iblis.

“Thank you,” he said to Eve, smoothing his hands down his jacket. Then he knelt on the pavement and put his arms around her.

She hugged him back tightly. Cat purred and licked his hair. “It’s okay," said Eve. “I know all about you.” Then she whispered in his ear.

Iblis laughed, kissed Eve’s cheek, and stood up. He turned around. He opened his arms.

Archangel Kamael, Prince of the Heavenly Host, dropped their weapon and stumbled into his embrace.

The flaming sword clattered to the ground, sizzled, and went out.

* * *

The M25, too, had been extinguished. Aziraphale appreciated not having to fly the Bentley back to the bookshop. Still, he thought wistfully, there had been considerably less traffic forty feet in the air.

“ _Excuse you, there’s a whole bloody lane for cyclists_ _!_ ” snarled Crowley, leaning on the horn. Aziraphale closed his eyes, put his hand over his heart, and blessed the young person on the velocipede.

“Well,” said Crowley, switching on his indicator with no intention of turning. “That went down like a lead balloon.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Armageddon. Went down like a lead balloon.” Crowley’s grin spread ear to ear, and Aziraphale burst out laughing.

“It did, rather, didn't it? And thank goodness.” Still chuckling, Aziraphale shook his head. “I expect Kamael will keep calling me ‘traitor’ for a while, but it’s nearly a term of affection.”

“Can’t tell you how glad I am that they and Iblis finally got their heads out of their asses. For a while there I really thought I was in for it.”

Aziraphale cocked his head curiously as they pulled up in front of the bookshop. “Wasn’t that car here when we left? It’s in dreadful condition.”

“Shit!” Crowley slammed out of the Bentley and ran over to peer through the bug-coated windscreen. Then he ran for the bookshop door, just as Aziraphale reached for the handle.

“Let me go first, angel,” hissed Crowley. “You might have visitors.”

Frowning, Aziraphale permitted the demon to lead the way. As soon as they stepped inside, he noticed a light in the back, and quiet voices. Immediately he wished he’d brought his sword, or even the Thundergun. He followed Crowley to the back room, where a couple of demons cozied up together on the loveseat. One wore a frog on his head, the other a blue-green chameleon. It wasn’t hard to recognize Hastur and Ligur from Crowley’s descriptions.

“What do you two think you’re doing, breaking in here?” snapped Crowley.

“Waiting for you,” answered Hastur. “Nice place. More comfortable than the car.”

“Bit of a firetrap, though,” observed Ligur. “Did you know you left the kettle on? Lucky we turned it off before anything happened.”

Aziraphale had already suffered through such a series of outlandish events, astonishing even his ethereal sensibilities, that he could think of nothing to say.

Crowley turned to him in mild disapproval. “You left the kettle on?”

“I rather think _you_ left the kettle on,” Aziraphale responded snippily. “You were the one making tea, remember?”

“I most definitely—”

“Thank you for taking care of the place,” said Aziraphale to the other two demons, partly out of genuine gratitude and partly to cut off Crowley’s protest. “It would have been terrible to come back and find it burned down!”

“Sure would,” agreed Hastur.

“We'd best be off then,” said Ligur, getting to his feet and offering Hastur his hand. “Now that you’re back.”

“Yes, quite.” A small part of Aziraphale insisted that he invite the two demons to stay for tea, but a much larger part wanted to scrub every trace of their scent off his furniture, and replace it as quickly as possible with the scent of Crowley and himself. It had been _days_ since they’d properly fucked each other on that loveseat.

So he saw Hastur and Ligur to the door, with Crowley circling and prowling behind him. They'd shut the door and were just about to start kissing when Hastur returned and banged the knocker. Aziraphale opened up again with a sigh. A rectangular box wrapped in gold foil was shoved at his face.

“Found this in the car,” grunted Hastur. “Got your names on it. We must've come here to deliver it.”

As Aziraphale accepted the box, he lit up with happy memories. “Do you know, today is our ten-year anniversary?” He turned apologetically to Crowley. “I’m afraid I had quite forgotten, with everything else going on.”

“S’all right, angel, I forgot too,” said Crowley, sounding a little hoarse.

“Congratulations,” said Ligur from over Hastur's shoulder. “Ten years. That’s nice.”

“We'll get back to Hell now,” said Hastur. “Since we delivered that.”

“Yes, thank you very much, my dear—demons.” Aziraphale nodded to them as they got back in their impossibly dirty car, then shut the door and brought the package into the light. “How exciting! Shall we open it right away?”

“Well, it’s your shop, if it turns out to be some kind of gag gift that explodes with glitter.”

“It’s a book,” cried Aziraphale in delight, after they’d peeled back the paper together.

“Not much of an anniversary gift,” snorted Crowley. “ _I_ don’t read.”

Aziraphale smiled at his cranky husband. “How about if I read this to you? It sounds extremely interesting. _The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch_. I’ve never heard of it before!”

“That's an accomplishment, finding a book _you've_ never heard of. All right, I’ll let you try me on a page or two, if you’ll let me take you out to dinner first.”

“Oh my dearest, how well you tempt me.” Aziraphale set the book on his desk. “Do you know, I believe a table has just miraculously opened up at the Ritz?”

* * *

“Tell me,” said Iblis, dropping onto his back, chest heaving, one leg hanging off the edge of the bed. “Do you still think you won?”

“Oh, I definitely won.” Kamael’s head fell onto his shoulder. They sounded almost drunk with pleasure. “I had three orgasms. You only had one.”

Iblis grinned and pinched the soft skin of their bottom, making them yelp. “So three to one in my favor, then.”

They smacked his thigh. “That’s not how it works!”

“Don’t tell _me_ how it works, sunshine.” Still breathing hard, Iblis sat up and pulled Kamael into his lap. He cupped their face in one hand and kissed them, slow and deep and thorough, because that was something the two of them could just do now, whenever they wanted.

As it turned out, they both wanted to, quite a lot.

Iblis moved his free hand up the inside of their silky thigh, already wet from earlier activities. He thought about slipping back inside Kamael like this, inviting them to ride him as they had done the very first time. It would be so wonderfully different, now that he could put his hands all over them and make them come again and again in his lap.

Before he could put this plan into action, Kamael broke the kiss and slipped down to the floor between his legs. “However you want to keep score, I promise you I will win,” they growled, then took him ferociously into their mouth.

Iblis moaned and buried his hands in their sleek hair. There were certain advantages to the archangel’s competitive streak.

It felt like they hadn’t gotten out of bed for days, not since Kamael had come to visit Iblis in his new home, a luxurious villa just outside Málaga on the southern coast of Spain. He was finding it a great deal more pleasant than either Heaven or Hell, and felt grateful for the forced relocation.

Just after the scene at the airbase, he’d received two urgent messages. One came from Dagon, warning Iblis that he was _persona non grata_ in Hell and he’d better not come back, and also could he _please_ send his annotations to the heirarchical reporting system and review her presentation for the Dark Council as soon as possible? The other came from the Metatron, informing Iblis that he had fulfilled his angelic obligation to “kneel before humans” and would be allowed back in Heaven.

Iblis had laughed for a long time. He had no desire to return to Heaven, but he hated to leave Dagon in the lurch. So he drafted a page of outrageous consultant fees, and Dagon had seethed but signed off.

Kamael, meanwhile, had gone back to Heaven to help with the decommissioning, but Michael and Uriel had developed such a rapport that Kamael complained of feeling superfluous and finally decided to take an extended leave of absence on Earth.

“You could just stay here,” said Iblis, in a voice that barely escaped being a whimper. They’d agreed on a temporary draw at seven and seven. “Anything Heaven needs, you can do as a consultant. Remotely.”

Kamael mumbled blearily, “Are you trying to tempt me, worm?”

He smiled. They always made him so happy, even when they acted suspicious and insulting. Maybe especially then. He thought about Crowley saying _I love him. I didn’t recognize it for the longest time._ He pulled Kamael closer. “We can start our own firm. Demon and Asshole, Incorporated.”

“Angel and Idiot, Limited,” Kamael threw back.

“Fire and Ice, LLC,” said Iblis, and kissed them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Some say the world will end in fire,_   
>  _Some say in ice._   
>  _From what I’ve tasted of desire_   
>  _I hold with those who favor fire._   
>  _But if it had to perish twice,_   
>  _I think I know enough of hate_   
>  _To say that for destruction ice_   
>  _Is also great_   
>  _and would suffice._
> 
> \- Fire and Ice, by Robert Frost

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so so much for reading! I'm on [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/melibemusca) if you wanna say hi.


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